


The Blue Line

by Blackadder261



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: (Even though she's younger than Chloe), 80's Music, Adder's Existential Torture Guarantee™, Agoraphobia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - 1980s, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Because Adder is addicted to the 80s, Bondage, Chloe is basically Martin Riggs, Don't copy to another site, Drugs, Eliot and Warren are Assholes, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/F, Feelings Realization, Flashbacks, Getting to Know Each Other, Girls with Guns, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Inappropriate Humor, Kidnapping, Max is TOO OLD for this shit, Misogyny, Murder Mystery, Past Character Death, Past Child Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Phobias, Plot Twists, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pyrophobia, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, dirty cops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-16
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:28:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 72,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23175457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackadder261/pseuds/Blackadder261
Summary: Important Updates will appear in the Author Notes. Make sure you read them, feel free to contact me via the comments or on Discord (via the Life is Shiwkey server) if you have any questions or remarks about these.Two thoughts cross my mind at roughly the same time: one, what self-respecting police officer not only leaves their prisoner unrestrained and in the off-limits areas of the station, but also doesn’t confiscate their effects?; two, holy shit is this woman the most beautiful thing I’ve seen.Max Caulfield, Bay City Police officer of four years, and a recently-qualified Detective, moves department to the Fourteenth Precinct, as close as any Precinct wants to get to becoming the Wild West. She's disciplined, by-the-book, and always level-headed.The officer she's partnered with... not so much.Oh, and there's a serial killer on the loose.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Comments: 43
Kudos: 100





	1. First Day

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic has been in the back of my mind for a while now, while writing _Alias Red Deer_ in fact. It should be fun, and I guarantee that anything that happens, good or bad, has a purpose.
> 
> Also, I'm going to try and reflect some of the attitudes of the time in the way things are written. Any misogyny, homophobia or suchlike is **NOT** an opinion of ~~ours~~ mine, it's merely part of writing the story in a manner that's correct to the era it's set in.
> 
> Yes, it's set in the 80s because I have a minor addiction to the culture and suchlike of that era. Bite me.
> 
>  **Lastly,** the release schedule for this story is going to be a lot more varied, between the ~~Plague~~ COVID-19 Pandemic, work for my degree and a few other things, I can't guarantee how long each chapter will take to write. As you can see, this one alone is a monster, and most of them are going to be aimed at this same level of depth and detail, so I'd say there'll be three or four months between chapters as a rough guide. I'll update on that as time goes on though.
> 
> Enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Max starts her first day with the 14th Precinct. First day, perhaps; Least eventful day, most certainly not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this has been on my to-do list for a while. Having Lazer and Letters to keep me on a good path with it is definitely helpful, as otherwise the plot would be nowhere near as good. Seriously, they've had some awesome ideas which are gonna come into play later (#NoSpoilers)
> 
>  **RECOMMENDED MUSIC:**  
>  Pre- Scene 1: [Adam Ant- Goody Two Shoes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o41A91X5pns)

_Detective Sergeant Maxine Caulfield._ (Actually, just Max.)

_Four years in service with the Bay City Police Department. One year as a Detective._

_Graduated at the head of her class during both the Police Academy and Detective’s Exams._

_Credited with over two hundred arrests and being a key player in over a dozen major operations across her precinct._ (Well, duh, it's my job!)

_Renowned for her by-the-book approach and zero-tolerance stance on corruption, and notorious for stamping it out wherever she finds it._

_Recently transferred to Fourteenth Precinct following incidents with her fellow officers._ (Well, that's putting it mildly.)

* * *

_6th April, 1985_

_BCPD, 14th Precinct Headquarters_

_8.55 am_

It’s certainly a much grander structure than my old Precinct’s Headquarters, that’s for sure. Three floors, and more grandure than anything I’ve seen since I left Pompous High- I mean, Blackwell Academy- the fresh rain that has just ceased lending a sheen to the sandstone facade. I shake my head at those errant thoughts of how life was back at school as I walk up toward the steps. I stopped taking photographs for fun a _long_ time ago, but still, I notice these little details. Like the slight reflections as rays of sunlight slice through the gloomy morning, bouncing off the glass panes with a brilliant orange. How every angle on this building seems to cast its own shadow, do its own thing, it’s-

A car pips its horn at me, making me jump and snapping my attention from the grand building before me, instead noticing the irate driver who is about six inches from spanking me with the bullbar on his jeep. Asshole.

“Hey, watch where you’re fucking going, lady!” He calls out of the window at me. 

“Sorry!” I timidly call back at him as I get out of his path and he speeds off, a cloud of noxious diesel fumes in his wake. I wish I could be more assertive sometimes. Hell, I can do it in my day job, so why can’t I do it when Mr. Self Righteous, like that guy, starts harassing me? I’ll never know, but my money is on it being something that clicks when I get on the job. That being said… I should probably try not to get run over. First day at the new Precinct and whatever.

My thoughts turn back again as I ascend the equally-aesthetic steps toward the front of the building. God, I’m glad the 4th is in the rear view mirror.

_“So… Up to anything this weekend, Max?” Warren asks, as he leans up against the lockers beside me. Apparently, nobody told him that those kinds of moves are reserved for High-School jocks. I turn away from him, sighing under my breath in as passive-aggressive a manner as I can._

_“Come on, Max, you can’t possibly be busy this weekend too! I already looked at the shifts, it’s your weekend off!” He tries again. God, Warren just won’t TAKE A HINT._

_“Who’s...who’s to say I’m not busy?” I reply back, falling over my words as they leave my mouth. Damn, why am I not better at arguing back in situations like this?_

_“Oh come on, Max!” He whines, pathetically, as he follows me across the room. “I just wanna go downtown. You know, for a drink or something?”_

_I grumble, turning to face him. “Warren, what part of ‘I Have Other Things To Do’ can you not understand?” I fire back at him, his incessant attempts to ask me out fraying my temper._

_“Okay, be like that. Just don’t expect me to go any easier on you,_ Sergeant _Caulfield.” He sneers, as he thumps a locker and walks in the other direction. I release the breath that I hadn’t realised I was holding, as I process what’s just gone down: I, the underling of this Precinct, have just delivered a verbal rebuttal to the golden boy of the Precinct, Lieutenant Warren Graham. A jerk of a man also probably involved in no small number of shady “arrangements”... not that I have the evidence to prove it as yet. Oh boy…_

I wince as my reflection back to that not-so-proud moment of my life becomes a reflection in the window built into the door. Its polished brass beams back at me, a slender, frame-like handle. The woman staring back at me still looks like me, but at the same time she isn't. She isn't who I was once over. Maybe I'll find myself again here? I’ve heard a lot about this Precinct, definitely one of the more busy and understaffed in the City. Maybe I can make something of this shit-show, rather than just regrets at not keeping my mouth shut that day? One thing is certain, I won’t know unless I step inside. My fingers curl around the upright part of the handle as I take a deep breath, closing my eyes but for a second. You got this, Max.

The door was deceptively good at suppressing any noise from within here. The moment I enter, I’m hit with a wall of it: cops shouting across the room; civvies everywhere, making unreasonable demands about having their asshole boyfriend who beat up some randomer released; the bleeping of desk phones ringing unanswered; pagers tweeting away… It really _is_ the Wild West in here. I take another deep breath, trying not to let the mayhem panic me. It wouldn’t be great to have a meltdown just because of everything happening in here; it is one _HELL_ of a change from the ghost-town that was my old Precinct’s lobby though. A slight fog of cigarette smoke rolls along the ceiling, by-product of what I can assume is the only release for a number of the officers in the room. I can’t say I’m fond of smoking, but I can at least understand their reasons for the habit, dirty as it is. Seeing no sense in standing near the door, and potentially being hit by it when another disgruntled cop enters the fray, I move deeper into the bedlam that is this place. Finally, I’ve worked my way through the chaos of the first floor, and made my way up to a somewhat quieter- though no less chaotic- upstairs area, where more of the Precinct’s support staff are, alongside the break area for the Precinct officers and detectives. The area is quite empty, only a few cops here and there taking a break between patrols, or dealing with paperwork, bane of our existence.

That’s when something catches my eye. A woman sat on the side of a desk, cig in hand. The arm closest to me, her right arm, is adorned in an intricate tattoo, hard to make out from here exactly what it is. I can see red on it, roses, perhaps? Whatever it is, it extends from her wrist right up to the top of her shoulder, a variety of colours snaking up her skin. I’ve moved a little closer into the room, and nestled among the other elements- vines, and butterflies, I think I can see?- is a skull, maybe halfway between her shoulder and elbow. _God_ , does that look pretty. And that’s before I’ve really looked at her as a whole. Her arms- both of them- are slender, yet muscular, toned. She must work out pretty often. I can see a few cuts and bruises in places, and a large scar or two, though luckily neither impinge on that awesome ink of hers. Her hair is a brilliant blue, poking out from beneath a battered and worn black beanie, the type I swear only dockers wear, tucked behind her ears. Her top, a black, sleeveless type; tight enough that I’m pretty sure I can see her abs. She definitely works out. There’s a couple of holes, nicks in it, exposing small snippets of what lies beneath. The denim cladding her lower half is equally torn up, a patchwork of hand-made repairs with material that isn’t quite the right colour, or the right colour at all, cover parts of its surface. They fit snug, giving me a clean outline of her legs as they extend sleek into her equally worn and scuffed boots, which come most of the way up to her knees. They're pretty tight toward the top, but they sure as anything aren't the sort of boots most women wear. Possibly old army surplus? I'm not sure. Then I make the stupid mistake of looking at her face. I dread to think how I look to any third-party that may be watching me, gawking at this woman. Her complexion is pretty pale, like mine, which means that the imperfections and injuries she's suffered are pretty plain to see. Sure enough, on her right cheek and extending back toward her earlobe is a light scar that stands out from her face, the type I’ve seen people pick up dealing with knife-jockeys. In spite of that, the rest of her face is pretty clean, save for a bruise on the same side of her face and a burst lower lip- probably been in a fight- its lines unmarred save for those small imperfections. Her eyes are about the last detail I really pick up on, a piercing blue that goes right through me and enthralls me at the same time. 

Two thoughts cross my mind at roughly the same time: one, what self-respecting police officer not only leaves their prisoner unrestrained _and_ in the off-limits areas of the station, but _also_ doesn’t confiscate their effects?; two, holy _shit_ is this woman the most beautiful thing I’ve seen?

Three, I realise that I can see her _eyes_ and not just the one as she had been sat initially. She’s looking back at me, and I'm really not sure how long she's been staring back. An analytical expression graces her face for a moment as my expression belies my surprise, twisting into an irritated glare. Ah, shit. She does _not_ look like she is happy with my blatant staring at her, and her gaze burns right back through me. She roughly stubs out her smouldering toke on the table, leaving its bent stalk upright, as she slides off of her perch and stalks toward me. I realise I’m instinctively reaching for my cuffs as she comes closer.

“Who the fuck do you think _you’re_ staring at, huh?” She snarls at me, trying to get up in my face. I pull the cuffs off their clip on my belt, taking them in my hand.

“Look, I shouldn’t have been staring. But I’m going to give you one chance, and one chance only: back down now, or I _will_ restrain you,” I order her. That only seems to piss her off more, great.

“Who the _FUCK_ do you think you are, threatening to cuff me in my own precinct?!” She growls back at me, teeth bared. She looks like she’s about a half-step away from taking my head off my shoulders and using it as her new ashtray.

“S-so… You’re a, you’re a cop?” I mumble, somewhat cowed by the blunt force of her retort and the utter terror at what she might do to me next. She pulls something out of her back pocket and practically hits me in the nose with it. A badge. Oops. Nice going Max, alienating other cops on your first day! 

“No, I’m the fucking cleaning lady. What the fuck do you think?” She grumbles again, tucking the badge back into her pocket as she takes a step or two back. “You new here?” she asks, her tone and, to a degree, her body language changing on a dime. I nod, shakily. She rolls her eyes. 

“Figures,” she deadpans, eyeing me up. She points to a door over on the other side of the room, inadvertently giving me a _perfect_ broadside shot at her tat. “That’s the Chief’s office over there. And do me a favour, while you’re here: keep the _fuck_ out of my way.” She finishes, turning away from me and heading for her place in the room once more. 

Well, that was certainly the harshest first-encounter I’ve had with anyone in this line of work. I turn and head in the direction of the office in question, slightly regretting having done that. She is pretty beautiful, after all else, and maybe if I’d been a little smarter about that conversation, she’d have been a little nicer to me. Maybe I could’ve- 

Stop it, Max. Fantasising about workmates is an incredibly dangerous game to play. Especially when it's someone like that who can probably dismember me without any real thought. I knock on the door, hearing the sound of glass connecting with itself as I commit the name of my new boss to memory as I read the black lettering on the frosted glass.

CAPTAIN RAYMOND WELLS

COMMANDER, 14TH PRECINCT

* * *

If I thought that the _outside_ of the Precinct building was ornate, then this office was a whole different level. That chair looks comfy as hell compared to what’s out in the main area behind me, and I’m genuinely amazed that nobody has tried to _‘borrow’_ it as yet. There’s a brass eagle on the desk, as though this guy _wants_ to masquerade as some imperial overlord. The man sat behind the polished oak desk begins his address, his voice almost comically deep after he clears his throat. His eyes look a little glazed, and I seriously doubt that it's tiredness that’s driving that look.

“Detective Caulfield, it is a pleasure to have you with the Precinct,” he begins, his expression unmoving. “As you no doubt know, this Precinct is somewhat under-strength, and the recent cuts to the Police budget haven’t helped matters.” Judging by the furnishings in this room, I wouldn’t be scared to guess where at least some part of that budget has gone. Regardless of whatever expression I’m wearing as I think about it, he continues in his monotone. “Now, in an ideal world I would have you deployed solo: the more hazardous nature of this precinct, however, requires that you work with a partner.” he concludes. I’ve noticed what looks like a tumbler, traces of an amberish fluid in the base. It wouldn’t take a Harvard degree to put the dots together, but this time I choose to keep my mouth firmly shut. I’ve already pissed off that other cop, I don’t wanna get on my boss’ shit-list this early. I’ve got a whole… however long I spend here to do that!

“I’ll bring them in, shall I?” He asks me, knocking me from my internal dialogue. I nod, meek and mute for the time being. He clumsily stands up, dusting himself down, and walks past me. I can even smell the liquor on him, but again I refuse to bring it up for fear of reprisal. His hand lazily falls on the door handle, dragging the door open.

“Detective Price!” He booms out.

* * *

I sit back on the desk as I had been before, next to the butt I stubbed out before I ripped that newbie a new one. I shouldn’t have done that, I guess- it’s not her fault that this is how I look. Still, she should learn to _think_ before she opens her goddamn… 

I laugh at my own thoughts as I ponder again, the chorus of chaos downstairs ringing up the way. Who am _I_ to lecture someone on ‘thinking before they speak’? I’ve practically built my entire career to date on the exact opposite. It’s not my fault either that every shitty thing in the world has found me, or someone I loved: Dad, for one. Rachel. Fuck, I wish I wouldn’t think about things like this when I’m at work. Unlike Wells, I have _some_ standards, like “not drinking when I’m on the clock”. All it means is there’s less to dull the pain as I prise that scar open again.

“Detective Price!” Wells’ voice booms from the doorway of his office. Speak of the Devil. Knowing my luck that newbie has dialled me in to him, and this is his idea of “asserting authority”. Can’t keep God waiting, I guess. I stride across the office, blatantly refusing to acknowledge or even register any of the catcalls of the other officers who’ve taken an interest in me being called in again. What I would give to have these jerks at my mercy, with a meat tenderiser. Oh, the fun that could be had. Now now, Chloe. No need to go full psycho. Yet.

I step into the office, and Wells closes the door behind me. As if _that_ would stop me leaving, and he knows it. “Detective Price, this is your new partner, Detective Caulfield,” he states, in his typically boring tone.

I look at the detective, and I can feel my eyes straining as I realise that this is the _exact woman_ I told to stay the fuck out of my way, not five minutes ago. I’m not sure who’s more surprised and shocked, me or her. I spin back to face Wells, incredulous.

“Chief, you know where I stand on having partners! Especially a fu- a rookie!” I exclaim at him, enraged that he could have the _nerve_ to give me someone who looks and acts like they’re fresh out of cop school. I hear her start to say something, but thankfully she’s cut off by Wells.

“And you know where I stand on operations within this Precinct. If you wish to return to your old duties, you have to have a partner. Detective Caulfield is _far_ from a rookie: in fact, her reference from Fourth Precinct shows her to have a sterling record,” he replies. Sure, he’s got me in a corner, but that’s not going to stop me giving him hell.

“If she had such a _sterling record_ with Fourth, then _WHY_ is she _HERE?”_ I shout back, catching her flinch slightly as I raise my voice. Jesus, is this girl timid. How she ever passed her practical tests I’ll never know.

“Detective Price, that’s quite enough. You are being partnered with Detective Caulfield, and that is final!” he roars back, slamming one of his meaty palms into a well-established dent on the desk. “Do you understand?” he impatiently demands. I sigh, exasperated and out of other arguing points.

“Fiiiine.” I groan. If this is what it’s going to take to get me off these desk jobs, I’ll take her.

“I’m glad you’re willing to cooperate today, Detective.” He pretty much sneers at me. “Please wait outside, while I finish talking to Detective Caulfield.” 

I groan some more as I turn about for the door, in the process giving this new girl, this _'Detective Caulfield'_ the worst death-stare I can muster in that exact moment. My hand snags the edge of the frame as I abruptly slam it closed behind me.

God, you have a way of mocking me that I'll never quite get.

* * *

Wells sighs as the door stops rattling. I gulp surreptitiously. If I thought being back at Fourth was bad, this could be a hell of a lot worse at this rate. After some deliberation, and an awkward silence, he speaks.

"I… apologise, for Detective Price's behaviour." He begins with. "Surprisingly, she is- or was- one of the best assets that this Precinct has at its disposal." 

I raise an eyebrow. "If she is one of your better officers, I'd say it's a damn good thing that I transferred, Sir." I quip. Jesus, what kind of Precinct is in such a state that a cop like _her_ is their best asset?

Wells narrows his eyes at me, briefly. The look of judgement on his face is there long enough for me to register it though.

"I should elaborate some more on your partner, I suppose." He states, very matter-of-factly. I always get a bad feeling when this tone comes out to play. "She was, at one stage, one of the best police officers the Precinct had. A real rising star. However… there was an unfortunate occurrence. Her partner was killed in the line of duty. She's not quite been the same since." He explains.

My heart drops into my boots, and I can't help but feel like a total dirtbag for making such a pithy statement a few moments earlier. Poor woman. My expression must've said exactly what I was thinking, because Wells' brow furrows into a pensive glare. 

"Is something bothering you, Detective Caulfield?" He asks, trying his damndest to be sincere. His attempts to be sincere falls flat on its face, I must say.

"No, not at all sir." I mutter. Not a chance I'm having any kind of emotionally-involved conversation with this clown. Wow Max, literally five minutes and you already hate your new Chief. That's gotta be some kinda new personal best. 

"Very well. If that's everything…" Wells trails off as he gestures toward the door. "Oh, one last thing." He states. "Detective Price is known for her… _creative_ interpretation of the regulations. Be careful, I wouldn't want you to fall foul of such conduct." As I head out, I swear I hear a glass bottle clunking against the wooden drawer being slid open, but again I daren't look back. No need to piss anyone else off today. I walk smack into a hand across my chest as I exit, wrapped up in my own thoughts, and look to find it attached to the very unamused Detective Price. The more I think about it, I swear I know that name. I've heard it somewhere before, that much I'm certain of. 

"Three rules for riding with me, rookie." She starts, giving me one of the worst scowls I've ever had. God, I'm regretting this already. "One: when you ride with me, what happens outside this building doesn't come back inside, regardless of what the fuck it is; Two: don't try and stop me doing what I do." She states through gritted teeth.

"What's three?" I ask. I already don't like the way she's acting. Something about her attitude to this whole setup bugs me.

"Three? When we ride, we follow our own rules." She says, giving me a passive-aggressive grin. "Fuck the handbook, fuck protocol. Where we go, neither will be any use to us." There it is, I knew I had good reason to worry. 

"You realise how unprofessional you sound with that set of rules, Detective Price?" I ask her. Damn, I sound like such an idiot. However, I don't know her name beyond that yet. She capitalises on it fully.

" _'Detective Price'_?" She sneers. "Jesus, you sound like a fucking robot. Sure you don't need to go via the motor-pool for a check-up?" She tags onto the end, giving me a very sarcastic smirk.

"Well, we haven't been formally introduced yet." I very nearly add 'you asshole' to that statement, on account of the hate stare I'm burrowing through her for suggesting I'm some kind of robot. Ooh, if I weren't a little more restrained. That being said, her arms look pretty strong, and I'd rather not get slapped into next week by them. Very strong arms indeed, her muscles solid and shapely from her shoulders right down to- cut it out, Max. You've already insulted her this morning, crushing on her is almost certainly guaranteed to be a one-way ticket to bad times. Besides, she's probably got a man in her life. Someone like her always has a guy in their life. Right?

"Chloe." She introduces herself to me. I nod, as we continue down the stairs.

"Max." I reply in kind as we cut through the alarming number of people in the room and head outside, presumably toward her car. Sure enough, we round the corner to find… what the _fuck_ is that? 

"Seriously, who the fuck abandons something like this outside a police station? Do they not expect us to write it up for every fucking infraction going?" I note aloud, expecting Chloe to laugh. Or at least chuckle a little. She doesn't. In fact, she scowls at me in a way that tells me without saying that I fucked up.

"So, first you say I look like a criminal, and _now_ you're going to say that about my truck." Chloe tells me, in a very low tone. Oh, fuck! Here we go again. "Got any more shit-talking to get out of your system before we get going?"

I nervously scratch the back of my neck as I head for the passenger door. I'm pretty sure she's sick of the sight of me, and I've known her less than an hour. Oh god. We both hop in, but I can still see her staring at me. I don't quite get the meaning of her look: is she still pissy, or is she trying to analyse me?

* * *

I don't know quite what Wells was thinking- or _IF_ he was thinking- but putting me with this infernal woman definitely ranks up there on his 'stupid ideas' list. I look over at her as I get myself comfortable. She notices.

"What are you looking at me like that for?" Max asks. Dumb, green _and_ oblivious, great. I shoot a glare back at her, almost certainly more aggressive than planned by the look on her face. What the hell, might as well go the full nine yards.

"I'm not quite sure yet." I answer. "Between insulting me, insulting _my ride_ , and being assigned to me when you're as much of a newbie as you so obviously are. It's like God's sent you with the express purpose of making my life even worse than it already was. I'll bet you're a right fucking bootlicker for Wells and the like, too." 

I'm not sure how I'd quite describe it, but what would best pass as a dark, angry expression falls across her face. The look of icy calm in her eyes at the same time as having that terrifying expression scares me a little, I have to admit. Especially from someone so seemingly innocuous. 

"Okay. Let's get a few things straight, Chloe. One: I'm not a fucking rookie. I've been around for the last five years, all of them working the streets, the vast majority on my own unlike here. The only thing I'm still relatively _new_ to is being a Detective; Two, given how both you _and_ this truck look, can you really sit there and give me shit for making those observations, especially when that's something we have to be able to do well in this line of work?; Three, I am far from a bootlicker. I follow the rules, and I make life hell for those who break them. I couldn't give a damn who it is who's breaking them, be it your scumbag career mugger, or a crooked cop. Anything else you want putting right under that fucking hair-dye of yours?" 

She sits quiet for a moment, just looking at me. Holy. Shit. Chloe, you may have fucked up massively giving her that much stick at once.

She's not finished yet, my mouth subtly closing once more as she overwrites whatever I was about to say. "Further to that, if you think _you're_ having a shit day right now because you've got _me_ as your new partner, I can top that. Wanna know why I came here, left Fourth?" 

Yep, I fucked up big time. Jesus, why is it always the smaller women who can be so feisty? "Enlighten me." I eke out, trying my best to hide the slightly-intimidated-but-impressed tone from my voice.

Max rolls her neck a little. "Ever heard of an asswipe Lieutenant called Warren Graham, from Fourth Precinct?" She asks.

I almost choke on my breath. "That asswipe made Lieutenant?" I follow up with, barely able to believe the first-class bullshit I've just heard.

"I take it you had the displeasure of that prick through the Academy. Glad I didn't." Max notes, possibly to herself. Hard to tell, really. "Well, he tried making a move on me. Actually, moves. Plural. I rebuffed him once more, and he gave me some spiel about _making me regret it_ ." She recalls, grimacing as she presumably thinks about dealing with that dirtbag. “Cut forward a week or two, and they’re trying to write me up for almost every type of misconduct you can imagine. Pretty impressive, given I have- _had_ \- a clean record.” She sighs as she finishes. “They gave me two choices: either to transfer to another Precinct; or watch them dismantle my career, piece by piece.”

Poor girl. Seriously, I actually feel sorry for her right now. Note to self: Warren needs a good dose of ass-kicking for treating someone this cute so horribly- Again, brain? Really? You’re going to sexualise the IA-Department-on-legs? Ugh, I can't deal with this part of my head today. Roll on the end of the day, I seriously need a drink!

I decide to change the tone to something a little less depressing. “You packing?” 

She looks at me- rightfully so- like I’m a complete moron. “Are you kidding? Of course I’m packing!” She exclaims, seemingly insulted by my insinuation.

“Okay… Let’s see it.” I say. 

“Really? What kind of first-day-of-Academy fuckery is this?” Max whines back, albeit that she’s unholstering her handgun as she does. I crack a smile as I look at it, the small, smooth weapon sitting comfortably in her hand. 

“Beretta Tomcat. What can I say, it’s a decent gun… if you’re upgrading from a BB Gun.” I chuckle. She glares at me, annoyed. Did I forget to mention how indescribably adorable she looks when she’s annoy- SERIOUSLY, BRAIN, STOP! At this rate I’ll be getting kicked off the Force for some kind of sexual misdemeanour. Then again, the smart money’s been on me being kicked out for disobedience, so at least I’d have the last laugh as I collect the pool money.

“Okay then, smartass.” She pouts, crossing her arms after she replaces the handgun in her holster. “I’ll play your game. Let’s see what you carry.”

I reach behind my back, pulling my go-to handgun out from my waistband. Max raises an eyebrow. “Good place to hide a gun, Chloe. Right up until the point that you knock the safety off and shoot yourself in the _ass_ by accident.” Max remarks, a sly grin on her face. I give her the finger as the rest of my digits hold the gun steady in my palm.

“This one is my day-to-day weapon.” I note, the Beretta sitting comfortably as ever in my hand. “Beretta 92. It’s an older model than what gets issued out to most newbies today, but it still hits hard enough. Then, there's what I keep handy for _special_ occasions.” I slip the gun back into my waistband, flinching slightly as the small of my back gets used to the cold metal being there again. I reach under the dashboard, detaching my _other_ handgun. I’m sure I see Max’s eyes widen as she sees it in my hand. I mean, yeah, it's an absolute beast. But her reaction is almost comical. “Max, meet the Automag.”

Max starts laughing. Her laugh is almost as adorable as her angry expression. Argh, why do I have to deal with someone that I already fucking hate _AND_ think is cute at the same time! “Who the fuck do you think you are, Dirty Harry?” She asks rhetorically, as she stops laughing. 

I can’t help but snort a laugh too. ‘Yes’, is the answer I so definitely want to say. 

“No!” I sputter, the words almost definitely lacking their meaning. As I catch my breath, I decide to explain exactly _why_ I own this hand-cannon. “This used to belong to my dad, when he was a cop.” Rather than a headstone.

Max’s eyes widen a little. “Holy shit… I knew the name seemed familiar!” She exhales, surprised. I shrug.

“Name’s familiar to anyone who ever listened at the Academy. What about it?” I mutter, nonchalantly.

“What about it? Your dad was, like, the best cop this city ever had!” Max replies.

I stay quiet for the time being, especially given the “ _was_ ” and “ _had_ ” aspects of the conversation, as I set off down the road. A cheeky grin works its way onto one side of my face. Seeing as how this is the first time I’ve been able to hit the streets in a while, I have someone I need to pay a visit to. I slot a cigarette between my lips with one hand, and spark my lighter up. I can’t help but notice Max flinches a little as it erupts into light. Great, so she hates smoking as well. Is this day going to get _any_ better, or am I just going to be on this crash-course of shit for the rest of my time around her?

* * *

“So they never caught him?” Max asks, as we make our way through the suburbs on our patch. As much as I wanted the conversation to steer clear of what happened to Dad, it winds up there anyway. Like it always does.

“Kinda. Guy died on impact. I think the results for alcohol that they pulled from his bloods would’ve put him somewhere around a zero point two on a roadside test.” I state, trying to keep my tone calm. It still hurts beyond belief talking about this at age twenty-eight; I’m glad I can’t remember much of how it felt at age fifteen. My attempts to bury those re-invoked feelings must’ve failed hard, given what comes out of Max’s mouth next.

“I’m sorry. I guess I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She murmurs, almost too quiet for me to hear.

I shrug again. “Don’t be. You weren’t the one that killed him.”

Max sighs. “Look, Chloe. I know what I’m about to say is going to sound really dickish, but you didn’t kill him either. Sometimes… you just have to know when to let something go, put it in the past. Hanging onto the past… it hurts you more than it helps, and sometimes making peace with it is the only way to try and heal. Assuming you want to move on, of course.” Max lectures me. I can’t help but feel she’s telling me this from experience, but I don’t press the matter. It’s going to be enough of a bitch working with her anyways; I’d rather keep this stalemate. My attention returns fully to the road again, and to the stereo… What the hell is that, fucking [ sitar music ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=huybJRdzyNk)?!

Instinctively, my hand stretches out toward the dial to knock it the fuck off. My hand falls on another, as Max's hand beats me to it. Her skin is smooth, seriously smooth- oh for fuck's sake, I'm not gonna get a break from this shit today, am I?- and I immediately pull mine back like it was touching a red-hot poker. I hope to fuck my face hasn't shown any of the emotions that spring up in my mind, either. Instead of turning it down, or switching channels, Max turns the music up, smiling.

I can't help but groan, exasperated. "For fuck's sake, on top of everything else you're a damned _hippie?!_ " I whine, squeezing my face with one hand as I drag it down my face.

Again, Max cackles, in that way-too-cute-for-comfort way of hers. "Close, but no cigar. My _parents_ were hippies, through and through. What can I say, some of their tastes must've brushed off on me." 

I groan some more as my hands settle onto the steering wheel again. "God **_hates_ ** me." 

I can see Max grinning out of the corner of my eye as she leans back against the corner of the cab. "Hate him back. Seems to work for me, mostly."

* * *

Okay, this place seems sketchy as shit. Chloe pulls this borderline-unroadworthy truck of hers into a small, dilapidated parking lot, out toward the fringes of the City. I'm not even sure this place is on our turf, so why Chloe's brought us here is a total mystery. Parked up to one side is an even sketchier-looking RV, which only barely beats the truck I'm in right now for the prize of 'least roadworthy looking vehicle of the day.' Chloe halts the truck with a melancholy screech of barely-serviceable brakes and cuts the engine, which splutters once more before falling silent. We sit in silence for a couple of moments, before Chloe speaks.

"Okay. The guy who owns that RV is… an old acquaintance of mine. Usually has decent information on dealers around the City. Leave the talking to me, okay?" 

I glance at her, blankly. " _Acquaintance_ who has information on _other_ dealers. Ergo, he is also a dealer, yes?" I quiz her. Chloe evades the look I'm giving her.

"Yes. What about it?" Chloe says in return, as though it's perfectly normal for a cop to be wiping out a dealer's competition. 

"Jesus, Chloe. What part of 'Corrupt Practice' does that not correspond to?" I grumble. She shoots another particularly nasty look at me.

"Hey. Frank's a small-time dealer. He doesn't peddle hardcore shit, the guys he rats on usually do. It's an… understanding. He sticks to dealing in the soft stuff like weed and keeps me supplied- with information- I leave him be. Nothing particularly crooked about that. It's not like he's bribing me or anything." 

Yeah, sure Chloe. Doesn't make it any less of a corrupt practice even when you put it like that. We get out of the truck, but all of the way across the lot I can't help but notice Chloe has one eye firmly on me. She doesn't trust me one bit, and I know it. Given current events, I can't say I particularly trust her either. As we approach the rickety RV, I hear movement from within. A dog, barking. Groaning and cursing, followed by the sound of drinks cans being kicked out of the way as the RV's owner presumably makes their way to the door. A hand hits the other side of it, and a guy- probably in his late thirties, though I'd put him down as a lot older- staggers out. Yeesh. He looks like he's hit his own stocks of drugs hard over the years- either that, or that RV is in a worse state _inside_ than out. For sleeping in, anyway. His features are more like those of a senior citizen, though he still looks to be in pretty good shape. Suppose that saves some cost on hiring enforcers, when you can do the job yourself. He narrows his eyes, if that's really possible with his sunken features, at Chloe. 

"Well, looky here." He snarls. "You eventually found yourself a new partner." He shoots a look at me. "Must've been scraping the bottom of the barrel. Or recruiting from college." 

I open my mouth to fire a witty retort, but Chloe cuts me off.

"Found? More like had her forced on me. Fucking plebes, man." I glare at Chloe, a silent incandescence. She either doesn't notice, or decides to ignore me as she continues her conversation with this small-timer. Ooh. Okay, if she keeps up like this, it's seriously going to test my patience. More than she already has.

“So, you here for product, or information? Hell, I’m sure I can cut you a deal for both.” Frank remarks, before looking at me again. “Assuming you can keep this one quiet. Rookie Blue and all.” He sneers, looking me up and down again. Fuck off, you look like you dropped out of high school and spent the last twenty years living like that first day.

Chloe chuckles. It sounds nervous, but _something_ about her demeanour tells me that’s just a ploy. “Yeeah. About that.”

“What about it?” Frank probes further. Chloe reaches her right hand up to scratch the back of her neck, which seems to distract Frank. He starts getting pissy, drawing a small flick-knife on Chloe. “I swear to fucking God, Price, you’d better not be messing around with me.” Her left hand, all the while, made its way surreptitiously behind her back, toward where her Beretta was hidden away. I already have a sinking feeling in my stomach, but I daren't intervene just yet. Maybe I'm wrong about what she's going to do.

"Well…" Chloe continues, dragging the word out. "I figured you'd be happy to just _give_ me the information. And maaybe some product too." Chloe says, chuckling.

Frank's expression twists again, becomes even more incensed. "You fuckin' hit your head or something? What fucking reason would I have to just _give_ you anything, other than a slap or this knife to the stomach." He growls, taking a pace forward. Chloe just grins at him.

"Well, the reason would be so that I don't blow your balls off." She states, bluntly. Ah, shit, I knew I had a bad feeling about this. Before I or Frank can say or do anything, her left hand pulls her handgun straight out of its place under her waistband, pointing it squarely at Frank's waist. His hands immediately shoot skyward as he practically jumps a step or two back, his hardened expression one of utter surprise as the knife clatters to the floor. "Woah, woah! Have you fucking lost your mind, Chloe?!" 

I stand stunned for a moment or two. Literally _everything_ we're ever taught to do says not to do stupid shit like this. "Chloe, what the fuck are you doing?" I yell at her.

She glances at me, keeping the gun squarely on Frank. "Stay out of this, Max. I've wanted to do this for a while. Fuck, it's funny to watch!" Chloe cackles. 

I decide enough is enough. Attempting to intervene, I grab Chloe's hand and force the gun downward. As she attempts to react, she pulls the trigger, the bullet skipping off the asphalt between Frank's legs and pings off of his RV. He jumps about two feet in the air, falling onto the floor as he holds his hand out, begging for mercy. "Okay, okay! Jesus, Chloe!" He howls, as Chloe pulls her weapon from my hand, holding it in one hand by her side. She gives me an angry grimace, wipes it from her face and gives Frank a sardonic grin, teeth and all. "The Cortez gang are back in town, over where Seventh used to have a lookout. That's all I know, I swear!" 

Chloe laughs at him as she tucks her now-cooled weapon away once again. "Get the fuck outta here, Frank."

He doesn't wait to be told twice, snatching his knife from where it fell, scrambling into his RV and peeling out of the lot way faster than I expected that thing to go, leaving me and Chloe in a cloud of fume. When she turns to look at me, that grin is all but gone. She looks about ready to smash my head into the floor.

Oh, shit.

* * *

The few paces back to the truck are wordless and hostile, to say the least. Who am I kidding, I wanna take Max's fucking head off for pulling a stunt like that!

"Are you out of your fucking mind?" I ask her. She glares at me as though _I'm_ in the wrong.

" _Me_ ?" Max fires back, that angry glow in her face again. " _You're_ the one who decided to try and pull a gun on someone for information. Even if you don't follow the fucking handbook, every cop knows not to pull a gun on someone for no fucking reason. Jesus, Chloe, you could've killed someone!" She yells. 

"I wasn't gonna shoot him! Frank's more use to me alive. Besides, I'm pretty sure trying to disarm someone is high up the list of things you're told _not_ to do at the Academy." I grumble back at her as I approach my door. She cuts across to my side as well, continuing the barrage.

"Perhaps if you weren't threatening to shoot someone, I wouldn't have needed to. Seriously, Chloe, I couldn't give a shit how you used to work, it needs to stop. Acting all 'dirty cop' is only going to get us both in shit and from what I've heard, you've been in enough already." Max states bluntly, sighing as she stands off from me. 

Wait. _What_ did she just call me? I turn around, taking my hand off the door handle. "What the fuck did you just call me, Max?" I ask, tone laced with venom. My eyes narrow on hers, but instead of fear, I see a resolve in her eyes unlike anything I've ever seen. 

"You heard. Only cops I've ever seen pulling shit like this are the ones I've managed to put behind bars for corruption. So, if you have _anything_ you wanna come clean about, now's the time." She declares.

That's it. Clenching my fist as hard as my teeth, I put all the power I can summon behind it and throw a left hook as hard as I can at this bitch's face.

I get one hell of a surprise when she sidesteps my jackhammer of a punch, grabs it neatly by the wrist and twists. By the time I’ve had chance to yelp in pain (note to self, stop using my busted arm to punch!) she's spun me around and slammed me chest-first against the door, my arm held in an uncomfortably tight lock behind my back. I try to move my other arm, but I feel a knee pressing hard against its wrist. Shit, she’s fast. And pretty strong. I try and pull down on the arm she has a hold of, break free from her grasp, but she forces it higher up my back, making me quietly cry out in discomfort some more. I can't help but feel a tingling in my body. In spite of anything else, she's something. However, that's not my main concern. How the fuck does she fight so good? My breath hitches a little in my throat, but I swallow it down. Why can’t my mind and body just agree with me for once, and not try and get turned on?

"Do me a favour, Chloe." She says, mouth close enough to my ear that I can feel her breath against the hairs on my neck. "Don't _ever_ try and hit me again. And clean up your fucking act, unless you want to go back to working a desk job in this fucking precinct." I hear a rattle of metal touching metal followed by a click. Something cold and metallic wraps around the wrist Max isn't holding. Another click, and the cold sensation tightens around my wrist. That better not be what I think it is. Probably wasn't. She wouldn’t dare.

I feel Max's knee press in against me as she pushes away, releasing her hold. I swing round, trying to lash out at her again. She's already neatly stepped out of range, a mix of anger and amusement on her face. I lunge at her. I barely stay on my feet as I jerk to a halt, waving a leg out in front of me to stay on my feet, hearing more rattling from my right wrist, which is refusing to follow the rest of my body. I look back at the door of my truck and sure enough, Max has cuffed me to the door handle. I hear her cackling as I look back at her, red in the face. Okay, perhaps she _would_ dare. 

"What the fuck is this?" I growl, baring my teeth slightly asd I jangle the cuffed arm at her. She grins, insufferably. "UN-FUCKING-CUFF ME. NOW." I roar at her. Max gives me yet another disgusted look, before giggling. I swear to fuck, when I get this off my wrist… they’re gonna have a hard time identifying that her cadaver is _human_ , let alone _her._

"Maybe this'll help you cool off and think about how you behave. I'm walking back to Precinct, I need the exercise. See you later. Try not to be such an asshole in future, please." She says with a smile, turning to walk out of the lot. I yank at my arm again, but neither the chain nor the rusty door handle give at all. I can feel a hotness spreading through my stomach as I get a little more desperate, pulling again as I press a boot against the door. Still nothing. Max is at the edge of the lot by now, and I scowl at her again.

"You'd better get your skinny ass back here and let me go, Max, or else-"

"Or else what?" Max shouts back, cutting my angry shouting off. "I'm not the one cuffed to a scrapyard on wheels, and who has _awful_ people skills. See ya." 

With that, she's vanished around the corner. I yank at my arm a couple more times. It still doesn’t seem to have any give. I place my foot on the door again, pulling as hard as I can once more. My wrist starts to sting with the metal biting against it, and for all my groans and grunts I’m still no closer to being unshackled than before. “Fuck!”

In a typical fit of rage, I lash out with my free hand, punching at the door. Big mistake. “Ah! Fuck, ow, ow!” I whimper, as I try and shake the burning pain from my knuckles. Turns out, steel really _is_ painful to hit! I throw my body away from the door again, a final effort to get free. 

Yeah, this… this isn’t working. Isn't this a fine fucking mess, Chloe? Seeing no better alternative, I turn around and sit down, leaning against my truck with my arm across me. I can’t really think of anything better to do, so I might as well have a smoke while I wait for someone to come and let me loose, hopefully. A root around my pockets quickly finds one, along with a working lighter. I suppose things could be worse. At least it isn’t raining.

* * *

It takes me a couple of hours to walk back to the Precinct, most of the way under a light drizzle of rain. I debate going back and uncuffing Chloe a couple of times but I think better of it. If anything, she might _actually_ kill me simply for leaving her handcuffed. I mean, she’s a cop too; surely she carries her cuffs and keys _somewhere_ on her.

It’s starting to get toward sunset, the orange-yellow hue out toward the waterfront bathing everything in a lukewarm glow as the sun floats, grazing the horizon. Hell, if I had a camera on me I bet it’d make for an awesome photo. I shift my shoulders a little, shaking the wet clothes into a more comfortable position on my shoulders, and head inside. It’s a stark contrast to earlier, the majority of the chaos having died down while we were out of the area. Most of the cops seem to have gone home, too. I head upstairs, finding largely the same situation up there. 

“Hey, you’re the new cop, right? The one assigned with Chloe?” I hear someone ask, off to my side. I turn to face them, nodding. This guy looks a little older than me, maybe closer to Chloe’s age. He bears a few scars too, similar to Chloe. Fuck, I hope she doesn’t have a brother or something. He gets up from the desk he’s working at- shit, that’s a lot of files he has to hand- and approaches me.

“Uh, yeah. You’re her brother, I’m guessing?” I ask as he gets a little closer. He snorts, laughing. He seems pretty friendly.

“Hell no! I’m Nathan. I’ve known Chloe since we went through the Academy.” He chuckles some more. 

“Oh.” I utter, smiling bashfully. Why the hell did I figure he was her brother, they don’t look anything alike! “Oops. So, uh, you know her?”

Nathan nods, smiling. “Yeah. I think I know what you’re gonna ask next, was she always like she is now.” I blush a little. Damn, this guy’s good! “Well, no doubt Wells has said she wasn’t. She kinda was, but she got way worse after-” He stops, glancing around. “Sorry, I shouldn’t really discuss that. It’s… delicate, and it’s probably best if Chloe tells you about it in her own time.” He explains, shrugging.

“I already know her old partner got killed on duty. What more is there to it?” I ask, giving him a curious look. His features furrow, a dark expression on his face for a moment.

“A lot.” He simply answers. "Where is she, anyway? I know you two went _out_ on patrol together. She didn't dump your ass and go off alone, did she?" He asks. 

I start to laugh, nervously. "Uh… no. We had an argument. She tried to punch me, I countered her and cuffed her to that rolling violation she calls a truck." I explain. I can't lie, I expect him to seriously blow a fuse. Not cool on my part.

I get a surprise when he can't contain his laughter, cackling as I did at Chloe when she realised she was cuffed. "Wow, that's a new one for her." 

I shrug. "Well, she went to meet up with some sketchy dealer friend or whatnot, and pulled a frickin' gun on him."

Nathan whistles. "That's a new one for her too, pulling a gun on Frank of all people. Bet that went well." 

I nod. "About as well as you expect. We argued after he left, I called her out on it- where I'm from, that kinda shit is dirty as hell- and _then_ she got pissy." 

Nathan nods in acknowledgement, brow furrowing. "Yeah. She doesn't take kindly to being called things like that." He glances at Wells' door, a strange look on his face. "Now, normally I'd tell you not to bother reporting it to Wells, but I've heard about you and how you work. It's pretty pointless me trying to stop you, but don't expect much to come from it." He states, returning to his desk to pick up and order his effects before switching off the lamp, dropping the room into a dingy low-lit state, the weak lights above barely illuminating the floor. "I'm guessing she met Frank where she usually does, so I'll go take a look and see if she's still there. See you around." With that, he heads downstairs, leaving me virtually alone on this floor. I head toward Wells' office, a yellowish glow still permeating the frosted glass.

* * *

"So, Detective Caulfield, what brings you in here?" Wells asks me, slouched behind the desk. I swallow down slightly and take a breath as I get my thoughts straight.

"Well, Sir, I want to report Detective Price for unprofessional behaviour." I answer, standing up straight in front of the desk. "She went outside Precinct jurisdiction, met up with a drug dealer to get information from them, and threatened them with a live weapon." I tell him. I don't like reporting other cops, but it has to be done. Especially with such a loose cannon as her. He seems completely unfazed.

"I did warn you that she interprets the rules in a more creative manner than most." He says in return, smiling. What the fuck?

"But- sir, she threatened to shoot someone! Without warning, or provocation! You cannot possibly be telling me that kind of behaviour is acceptable!" I snap back.

"Detective Caulfield, I've already told you once over. That's simply how Detective Price operates. I'll speak to her when I see her next, and try to… encourage her to behave in a more agreeable manner. However, I can't see any cause for further action at this time."

"But-" 

"Anything else, Detective?" Wells asks, completely ignoring and talking over my reply. He doesn't give a shit. 

I sigh, resigned. "No, sir." I mutter as I turn for the door.

"I'm glad we have an officer like you on the force, Detective Caulfield." Wells declares as I close the door behind me. I don't know whether he means it sarcastically or not, but I don't really care anymore.

Well, shit. Maybe I would've been better off just resigning from Fourth. Then, none of this would be happening. A slight dread sets into my stomach as I think about a couple of things: namely, Chloe, when she eventually finds me again; and how she's gonna act after Wells 'speaks to her'. Ah, hell. I head down the stairs and out through the atrium again, taking a deep breath to calm myself once I get out into the cool evening air.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we have it. Already, Max and Chloe are at each other's throats. All is well in the world, obviously. 
> 
> Trust me, it's going to get better from here. Kinda. (Does anyone trust me after the last two outings? No idea!)
> 
> See ya in a while!
> 
>  **UPDATE- 15 May**  
>  So, I was watching Robocop last night and realised a somewhat major anachronism. I had Chloe refer to Max as being 'married to Robocop'. Problem is, Robocop came out in 1987. This is set in 1985. Oops, time to fix!


	2. Trouble in Chinatown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Less than a week into being partnered with Chloe, Max attends her first murder scene, her rebellious, chaotic and pissy partner in tow.
> 
> What they find turns Chloe's world upside-down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, with everything that’s been going on I’ve been working from home. I’ve had chance to get a lot done on this chapter as a result and so it’s been completed ahead of the “several months” time-scale estimate in last chapter’s A/N. 
> 
> Things within this story will vary- there are some dark sections, there are plenty of light sections. This, unfortunately for you all, is one of the darker sections. Don’t worry, next chapter will have its share of humour. The chapters beyond that are also somewhat light-hearted for the most part, though there are a few where you will want to launch an ICBB (Inter-Continental Ballistic Brick) at me. 
> 
> Enjoy(?)
> 
> **Scene music- not referenced within story text itself:**
> 
> Scene 7- [David Bowie- Ashes to Ashes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HyMm4rJemtI)

_10th April, 1985_   
_BCPD, 14th Precinct Headquarters_   
_9.30 am_

It's been a few days since I saw Chloe.

Correction, I haven't seen her since the incident with that guy Frank. And having cuffed her to the truck. I can't help but smile to myself as I recall that look of utter shock as the chain snapped tight and nearly put her on her ass. Oh my god, there are few moments in my life that I can say were as funny as seeing Chloe's expression snap from sheer rage to total surprise and back. I turn back to my paperwork. Jesus, I forgot how much of this shit you have to do sometimes. Still, doing it is better than not, even if it is a monumental pain in the ass. I mean seriously, how many forms does it take to transfer from one precinct to another? A 'change of unit' form and a form to change whose payroll gets the good news would suffice, not a dozen different forms. Urgh, whoever came up with this mound of paperwork needs their head looked at.

I glance up as I hear someone nearby. It's just Nathan, one of the few cops who seems to be in today. Damn, it's quiet. "Hey Nathan. Quiet weekend?" I ask. He chuckles.

"It was. After I went and let Chloe out of her cuffs." He says. I can't help but cackle giddily, picturing quite clearly what kind of scene Nathan was greeted by. "Jesus _Christ_ , was she pissed off."

I shrug. "Surely she should have the sense to carry her cuffs. Or at least her keys, just in case." I note, shaking my head as I grin. Nathan tilts his head, concurring.

"Perhaps. It's Chloe, though. As you've no doubt seen, her and 'sense' aren't talking to each other much, if at all." He points out in return.

"True. What's with it being so quiet in here, Unions on strike or something?" I ask, conscious that the normally-busy office is anything but right now. Nathan shrugs, seemingly none the wiser either.

"Not sure. It's weird, but hey, less dickheads to deal with." He says, equally to me and himself. "What are you busy with, anyway?"

I pick up one of the many forms littering my desk. "Finishing up my transfer paperwork. Seriously, who the fuck decided that changing from one Precinct to another, in the _SAME CITY_ , needed twelve forms?!" I exclaim. Nathan smiles.

"Yeah. Gotta love the Admin department. That said, you're about the only cop in this place that actually bothers with due process. Half these assholes wouldn't know how to be professional if you smacked them in the side of the head with the rulebook. Hell, if I'm totally honest, I often leave paperwork unfinished for weeks."

I purse my lips, as I think over what I am about to say. "I've noticed. Has this Precinct always been that way- lawless and a fucking paradise for IAD if they came in, I mean?" I ask. It's been bugging me for a while now, how much of a shitshow things seem to be here and how few fucks seem to be given for due process.

Again, Nathan grimaces. "Honestly? It hasn't. Well, it was a little, but the old Chief, Ramirez, had a much better handle on it. He kept people in check, actually made sure shit got done, let IAD raise hell if someone wasn't doing their shit right." He recalls. The name Ramirez seems familiar, hell if I know why.

"Right." I acknowledge again. "But, I'm guessing he isn't around any more."

"No. Drive-by, maybe five years ago." Nathan elaborates. "Cops investigating it say it was a gangland hit, and most people went with that. Ramirez oversaw some of the biggest sweeping takedowns on gangs this city has ever seen, so no doubt there were more than a few who wanted to fry his ass. That being said…" he adds, "before it vanished into thin air, I got a look in at the Coroner's report. The slugs they found in him matched pretty well to the nine-millimeter ammo issued within the Department."

I look at him, his expression belying his reaction at mine. "You mean to say you think it was an _inside_ job?"

Nathan snorts. "Hell, of course I don't _think_ it was an inside job. All I'll say is, there are some real pieces of shit in this place." I notice him take a brief glance at Wells' door. Huh, I'm not the only person here who doesn't like him. Good to know it’s not just me that thinks he’s a total prick.

I turn my nose up and grimace. "Yeah. I've noticed."

Again, Nathan's look becomes mildly dark, casting an unspoken judgement. "I know exactly what you're getting at and who that's aimed at. I know Chloe doesn't always play by the rules but trust me, she's a good cop. She wouldn't even dare to do that to someone if she wasn't absolutely sure of their shittiness." He warns me.

"So she's talked to you about what happened." I state, starting to doubt whether I should trust him. He's in league with Chloe, so that would be a no.

"She has. Her story matches what you told me. A few things happened after you left though." He says, with a dark chuckle as he walks off.

Maybe I'm wrong about her, then. A genuinely dirty cop would've twisted the story, at least that's my experience. I turn my attention back to the as-yet incomplete paperwork, frowning to myself as I realise how little of an impact I've made on it. Urgh, fuck this and whoever thought so much of it was a good idea. All the while, I’m turning these thoughts over in the back of my mind. Can I actually trust Chloe? And what the hell kind of officers are in this Precinct if she’s one the ‘not-so-bad’ end of the scale?

* * *

I trudge toward the door to the Precinct, still screwing my eyes shut slightly and rubbing at them to try and rid them of the stinging around the periphery. Fuck, why can I not get at least one decent night's sleep in every few? It was a long weekend, that much is certain. I should probably go back and see a shrink at some point in the near future.

If I could afford a fucking shrink. The shit pay that I get and the extortion that is rent in the area sees to that. I turn my nose up a little as I head inside. Plus, trying to convince Wells to have me signed back onto the Department’s psych team is a non-starter, of that I’m sure. I furrow my eyebrows as I notice the noise, or more accurately a lack of it. Huh, the atrium is almost totally empty. Wonder where everyone is?

Oh yeah. It's _that_ time of the week, their usual fucking coffee meet. The City's tax dollars are hard at work as usual, I see. A brief glance at what's been left lying out is pretty telling as to how much these assholes really care about hygiene or any shit like that. Jesus, some of the crack dens I've been sent to raid are cleaner than this. I set foot onto the staircase, and hear a cough behind me.

Urgh. Of course _it_ would still be here. “Figures you’d be coming in late, given what _I_ heard happened to you.” Eliot starts up. “Bet you thought you were real smart, trying to show off to that new partner of yours.” He sneers. “What’s the matter, trying to make up for the last _dyke_ that died, because of you?”

“Dude, will you fuck off and make yourself useful someplace?” I snap back at him. “Maybe under a few feet of fucking soil, or the wheels of a bus?”

Eliot whistles, chuckling as he continues to follow, unrelenting. “Threatening murder on a cop? In _your_ position? It’s almost like you’re trying to get your ass fired. Luckily, you still owe me a _favour._ ” He continues, that fucking smugness all over his tone. What I would give to be able to throttle him and get away with it. He puts a hand on my shoulder as I go to head up toward where there’ll _hopefully_ be someone. Anyone. Even Max. Just someone I can engage with to get rid of this fucking prick would be nice right now. I would smash his head into the banister, _but_ this particular fucking prick is so close to Wells that if Wells were _ever_ to come to a sudden stop, Eliot’s face would probably go halfway up his ass. I shudder internally at the image I just created for a moment.

“Fuck you, Eliot. I don’t owe you a fucking thing.” I growl. The hand leaves my shoulder, grabbing me by the back of the neck and forcing me forward. I trip and hit my knee on the stairs, biting my lip to avoid crying out in pain. His hand grabs me again as he pushes me against the banister. He moves way too close to me for comfort, his face closer to mine than I ever want to have happen again. 

“Oh, I think you’ll find you do.” He says, softly. I flinch away from him, his breath as wretched as I remember it. “Or did you forget your promise?” 

  
I push back at him, forcing him off of me. “I never promised you a fucking thing. Leave me the _fuck_ alone, asshole.” I retaliate, stamping further up the stairs. He’s still pestering me as I get up toward the main areas. It’s fucking empty, more or less. Just as Eliot is about to open his mouth again, I realise Max is sitting in one corner of the room, with what looks like a metric assload of forms on her desk. “Hey, Max!”

* * *

I knew it. Of course someone like Chloe would have a man in her life. I can practically feel my heart sink as that registers. That guy seems really like her too, quite well-built. She seems pretty unhappy to see him, though. I wonder why that is?

Wait, why am I even that bothered? It’s not like I’d have stood a chance with her anyway.

 _You know why, Max._ That condescending female voice echoes in the back of my mind. I shiver, even though I can’t pin it exactly I know deep down who it belongs to. _Don’t ever forget what happens to dykes…_

I shake my head violently to dislodge the voice before it takes hold any further, by which point Chloe’s basically stood over my desk. It’s been nearly twenty years and yet I still can’t get that voice, that _person_ out of my mind. An indelible scar, a reminder of what made me this way. Granted, it doesn’t help that my partner- hate me though she does- is, well… her.

“Morning, Max.” She says, even smiling at me. Okay, this is weird: what is this creature and what did it do with the angry bundle of blue hair and attitude that was Chloe? 

I swallow, attempting to sound assertive. “Uhm… Hi?”

Well, that worked, Max. Like. A. Charm. It isn’t helping matters that my insides are doing fucking cartwheels and I don’t know why.

“Chloe, stop trying to flirt with your partner and get your ass in gear.” Nathan calls from across the room, as he puts the receiver of his deskphone back onto its holder, his feet up on the desk as he reads through some file or another. Chloe winces, turning to face him. Is she… blushing? Huh. Weird.

  
“Fuck you, Nathan. What do you want, other than my boot thrown at your face?” She fires back, getting the finger from him in return. 

“Just had a call in from Twelfth. They’ve got a murder on their hands down in Chinatown, they haven’t got the manpower to take a look. Fancy a trip over there? And by ‘fancy a trip’, I mean ‘best get moving before Wells throws another fit.” He tells us. 

I can’t lie, I feel my heart skip a beat or two when he says that. I’ve been on the force for a few years, and I’ve seen things, dealt with things. Assaults, robberies, car accidents… A murder is new to me. Keep it cool Max, go with it.

“Okay, okay. If he asks where we are… don’t bother telling him.” She says to him, grinning, before she turns to me. “You gonna sit there and fill forms, or are you going to get off your bony ass and come with me on this one?”

I’m on my feet before Chloe can say another word. As much as I like following the system… today, it can go fuck itself for my liking.

* * *

Chloe barely says a word to me until we’re in the truck, and heading down the street. Her stereo jumps a few stations, settling on some [ Bowie ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_YC3sTbAPcU). Not bad. I wish the same could be said for Chloe, though, as her mood returns to the low-level Bitch Mode I thought had gone missing. I can’t say I’m surprised, but I am a little disappointed at how fast things have turned again.

“I have so many fucking bones to pick with you right now.” She grumbles. “First, have you _any_ idea how hard it is to take a piss with your handcuffed to something and not piss on yourself? Believe me, it’s not fun, or easy.” The look on her face tells me she knows it’s hard to not do because she ended up doing it, but I keep my mouth shut. No point making this journey any less pleasant than it’ll probably be.

“Chloe, ew! Too much information!” I cry out, mainly to hide the slight blush on my face. Actually yes, I _do_ know how difficult it is for a girl to do that. And how uncomfortable it is. Chloe doesn’t need to know that, though, nor _how_ I know that. Another day, perhaps.

“Well, next fucking time, don’t cuff me to my truck.” Chloe replies, her tone still laced with innate anger. 

“Next time, don’t try and punch me. Yes, what I said wasn’t nice, but trying to punch me as good as looks incriminating half the time.” I counter.

“I seriously wanna kick you out of my truck and into the Bay right now. I hope you know that.” Chloe says back, not even bothering to look at me. 

“Why’s that? Did you forget your keys or something?” I answer back. I know the answer already, having discussed it with Nathan, but she doesn’t need to know that. Besides, I do find it _just a little bit_ fun to make her squirm. I can see her cheek reddening as she moves her mouth wordlessly, trying to figure out what to say in reply. Her gaze out of the corner of her eye dodges me and fixes back on the road, as she presumably tries to hide her embarrassment. “Then again, I suppose it’s handy that Nathan let me know that once I got to the Precinct.”

“So you-” Chloe starts, pausing for a moment. “You sent Nathan over?” That’s a new one on that face- surprise. And in a good way too.

I nod. “Seemed the sensible thing to do. And if it makes you feel any better, I did consider coming back to let you loose a couple of times, but I figured I rather like _not_ being full of bullet holes. Apparently it’s better for you.” I add, smirking just a little.

She shoots me another dirty stare. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

I hold my hands up. “Sorry. Nathan…” I sigh. “Explained a few things this morning. I’m sorry, I guess I had you wrong. Still, what you were doing was _way_ out of order. Even if the guy was a total prick.”

“So that’s how you reason away ratting on me to that fuckhead Wells about the whole thing.” She adds. Fuck, I knew that was going to come up some time or another. I suppose she has a reason to be pissed off with me over that.

“But I-”

“Save it.” Chloe cuts off my attempt to explain. She’s got one eye on me and the other on the road, and the one that _is_ looking at me is giving me all the right signs of someone who wants to run me over. “In _case_ you hadn’t figured it out yet, the asshole that runs this Precinct is about as much good as tits on a fish. Then again, the asshole _has_ threatened to fire me if you dial me in for anything again, so go ahead.” She scoffs. “You’d be doing both of us a fucking favour.”

“Look, Chloe, there’s not much I can say to make it up to you-” 

“No shit.”

I growl slightly under my breath. “I’m not gonna try to either. But I take your point. Between him and some of the other officers in this Precinct, I’m beyond thinking the system here works. That doesn’t mean you can run riot, though.” 

“Fine. Just tell me when to pull that rulebook and moral code out of your ass.” Chloe answers back, a smug grin on her face.

“ _WHAT_ did you just say?” I yell, slightly- no, _seriously_ pissed. Chloe starts cackling away at her joke, as though it’s something funnier than it actually is. Ooh, I’m going to punch her so fucking hard. “I swear to God, if you weren’t driving right now, I’d be ramming those words back down your throat harder than your boyfriend’s dick.”

Chloe all but chokes on her laughter. “What?” She wails back, which I can’t help but grin at. There’s something quite funny about her when her mood switches like that. 

“Your boyfriend. I mean, that guy you came in with earlier, he _is_ your boyfriend, right?” I ask, now a little more apprehensive.

Chloe laughs even harder, pulling the truck over for a few moments so she can clutch at her stomach. Finally, she stops laughing at me long enough to give me a coherent reply. “Eliot? No. Absolutely fucking _NOT_ . _EX-_ boyfriend. From when I was, like, eighteen, and-” Her mood shifts again, and her brow furrows for a moment as though she’s remembering, recalling something. Perhaps several somethings, hard to say. As soon as it was there, it’s gone, and her blank demeanour returns. “Never mind. Let’s go take a look at this murder and see what we can hand over to Twelfth when they get their asses there.” She tells me.

I nod again, as she sets off once more. “Let’s.”

* * *

There’s a few people outside when we get here, but as Nathan had made us aware, we’re the only two cops for now. I cut the engine and open my door, Max following me as we head toward the smallish apartment. This place is pretty much on the outer edge, the backwater of Chinatown, if that’s even possible for the area to achieve. A cast over the apartment from outside reveals nothing particularly interesting, a little run-down but otherwise livable. Hell, I lived in worse places while I was skipping around town after… after Dad died. We make our way toward the place. No way to see in through the windows and get an idea of what’s gone on inside, some smartass has drawn the blinds. I suppose it keeps the rest of the neighbourhood from taking a fucking ringside seat while me and Max try and get our heads around whatever the fuck went on here. There’s a few people around the doorway, in hysterics. Probably the victim’s family. Strangely, Max approaches them pretty much immediately, attempting to console them and get some idea of what we’re going to find when we get inside. I stop and try to help a little as well, although I’m _really_ not a people-person. Kinda why I ditched the beat-cop routine and took my Detective’s exam as soon as I could. I approach an older woman, handkerchief to her mouth and nose as she continues to break down in tears. 

I know for a fact that I should feel _something_ , some shred of sympathy or even empathy toward the woman for whatever she’s seen here, whoever the victim is to them. I just don’t feel anything though, a little numbness as ever and that’s about it. Fuck, I hate having to try and seem as though I understand her on an emotional level. I put a hand on her shoulder as gently as I can, and looked her in the eye. The expression that flickers across her face for a second or two tells me enough that my attempt at seeming less cold than I feel hasn’t worked. Oh well.

“So ma’am, uh… are you a relative of the victim? I suppose that’s probably a good place to start.” I ask. The woman nods.

“Y-yes.” I hear her whimper from behind her muffled mouth. “She was my daughter.”

Poor woman. I guess I know how it feels to have someone you love- no. Not letting that box spring open right now. To keep my mind’s hand away from that box’s latch, I continue with the somewhat limited number of inquiries I can think of, although that small repertoire is still better than my crime-scene-appropriate small-talk. “I’m sorry for your loss. Would it be okay to ask you a few questions? The sooner we get information, the sooner we can catch whoever did this.”

The woman nodded in response. 

“Thank you, ma’am.” Chloe removed a notebook from her pocket to take some notes while she spoke. “When did you last speak to her, or see her alive?”

“Last night.” The woman croaked. “I- I left at ten. She was fine then.”

So, ten hours or so between the last time anyone saw the girl alive and her mother finding her. The trail’s probably still pretty warm, so that’s one positive.

“Okay.” I try and figure out the best way to word my next question. I may be useless with this, but at the very least I can try not to insult the woman or her- daughter. “Your daughter didn’t… have any problems, did she? Nobody who would want to hurt her?”

“No. Definitely not.” The woman has calmed down just enough to speak at a somewhat normal pitch instead of a shrill cry. “If she had, she would have told me. I know she would have. She never needed to borrow money, her job at the City Despatch earned her more than enough to get by on. She almost never had a bad word spoken against her.” She informs me. While it’s possible that her mom is right, it wouldn’t be a surprise if this journalist had gotten in over her head in some way or another, and someone had opted to knock her off. Consider it an occupational hazard, I suppose: this City has a lot of dirty secrets, most of which people don’t want to be uncovered. 

I think I’ve asked about as much as I want to for now. “Okay, ma’am. I’ll go and take a look, see if I can’t try and find some clue as to who did this. My-” I catch myself before I call Max something rather impolite. “-colleague will look after you, she’s good at dealing with these things.” I glance over at her, and sure enough she’s doing a far better job of handling the other members of the victim’s family. “Hey Max, can you look after…” I turn my attention back to the woman before me. “Sorry, pretty rude of me to not ask your name.”

“My name is Mrs. Li. It’s okay, at least they’ve sent you. Too many crimes happen here without anyone coming to help.” She answers.

“Yeah, got it.” Max calls over. “You going to take a look inside?” She asks in return. She’s pretty direct and composed when she’s working on-scene, I’ll give her that. Still a fucking rookie to me though.

“Of course. See you in a while.” I give Mrs. Li as much of a reassuring smile as I can before I step over the threshold into the apartment. Even from the door, there is a faint metallic smell. I’ve been on more than enough scenes like this over the last few years, I know all too well what that smell means. No doubt the scene is messy as fuck, and poor Mrs. Li had the misfortune of coming across it unprepared. Beyond the smell, nothing about the entrance to the apartment seems out of place. The door hasn’t been forced, nor are there any signs that anyone broke in. It’s definitely an unusual situation, normally a murderer’s trail on the scene begins at their point of entry. This murder doesn’t have one. 

By the smell of blood, it would seem the murder took place in the main living area- where the door has been closed, no doubt by the victim’s distraught mother, so I opt to check the rest of the apartment out. The small kitchenette still has pans, crockery, cutlery out, as though the owner vanished into thin air. I stop myself as I feel something under my foot. I step back, kneeling and looking at the knife I’ve just stood on. I glance back up. One of the drawers is open, and there’s a few other pieces of cutlery strewn on the floor. The victim must’ve been in here when the murderer got in, and she must’ve tried to fight them off with whatever she had at hand. I gently pick the knife up by its handle, taking a closer look. Along its toothed edge, there is a very slight trace of blood. It’s dried, turning a lightish red and giving the silvery metal a crimson hue as I twist it in my grasp. Not that it makes it any easier to narrow down how long it’s been since this woman was attacked and murdered: given the amount of time I’ve spent hanging around with Mark down in Forensics, I know that blood probably dried within half an hour of the attack, maybe less. As I stand back up again, I spot a notebook on the table, still open. The first couple of pages look as though they’ve been roughly torn out. I pick it up as well, checking to see if there are any indents on the page. By the looks of it, whoever tore out the pages made sure to take enough to leave no indents. That’s annoying. Strange, too. Perhaps whatever this journalist was writing down was the reason she was murdered? It’s a long shot, but I’ve seen stranger motives in play.

With no real reason nor desire to go through her effects in the bedroom, It seems I’ve nothing left to do but take a look at the murder itself. I head through to the closed door, taking a few breaths to calm myself as I grasp the handle. Even after all these years, I still get a little tense right before I step inside a scene like this. I close my eyes for a moment and open the door. The stench of blood is even more intense now, as I step into the room. I glance around, there are pieces of furniture and belongings strewn, probably kicked or disturbed in a scuffle. There doesn’t seem to be a trail of blood leading anywhere in here though, so presumably any stabbing or injuries to the victim occurred in here, where they are. I haven’t even looked at the body yet, I realise, so I turn around. 

The victim is strapped to a chair, by her ankles and wrists. I can feel the pulse throbbing in my throat, as I glance further up the corpse. The air feels dry as I try to breathe. Stab wounds, long lacerations up and down her thighs. The room isn’t the apartment in Chinatown any longer, but rather an abandoned house in the outskirts. More lacerations, deep gashes and furrows cut into the poor woman’s skin. Her skin is light, pale in colour, her clothing familiar. A band on her right wrist, braided in blue thread. I can feel my legs trembling as I look further on still, trying to suck down air, none being taken on board. The checkered shirt, slashed, torn, very little of it covering her body now. Rivulets of dried blood, frozen midway down her body, thin ribbons of bright red flaking away on her cold skin. A bluish flicker on her left, just above her shoulder. Please, it can’t be her. It can’t be!

I look further still up the victim’s body. Hazel eyes, glassy in death. Bruising, as though she’s been punched around. Blonde hair, extending down to her shoulders. I can’t look any more. I screw my eyes shut and force myself to stop looking at what lies before me, forcing my head into my hands as snippets of my memories flood through me.

_Chloe, please, do something!_

_Shut up!_

_Agh! Fuck you!_

_I’m going to make sure you_ _never_ _cause me trouble again._

_CHLOE!_

Hands from behind me, attempting to restrain, capture. I thrash out frantically. They’re not going to kill me like they killed her. A hand on my right arm, gripping my bicep, trying to hold me still.

“No!” I yell out. “Get off me!” I swing round with my left hand, connecting hard with something soft.

“Ow!” I hear a pained outcry, feminine. “What the fuck was that for, Chloe?!”

I can feel the blood on my fist, sticky from where it connected with the assailant. 

“Get the fuck away from me!” I cry out again, at the shadowy figure standing off against me, wiping off their face. I lunge at them, firing a punch forward to strike them, take them down before they can do the same to me. The shadow evaporates into thin air, and I find myself being slammed against the wall.

“CHLOE!” A voice yells in my ear. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

Slowly, any sense of my surroundings returns. The interior of the apartment is no longer dishevelled and abandoned, but clean, albeit with the odd item strewn and broken across the floor. I’m still hyperventilating as I turn to look at the victim tied to the chair. Her hair is jet black, short; her face, while bruised and bloodied like Rachel’s is nothing alike hers; her black skirt and white blouse being as far removed from the style Rachel dressed in as you could get. The person forcing me against the wall lets me go, and I spin around to face them. It’s Max. She looks annoyed. Also, why is her nose bleeding?

“Why did you have me pinned against the wall, Max?” I snapped at her. “And why the fuck is your nose bleeding?” 

Max scoffs at me, indignant. “What the fuck do you mean, _why is my nose bleeding_? You know damn well why.” She replies, glancing at my left side. I glance down too, wriggling my fingers as I notice the semi-dried blood on my knuckles. 

It takes me a moment to figure out how that got there. Did I… did I punch her?

* * *

Chloe’s been acting strangely since I found her in the apartment. Well, even after she snapped out of whatever made her _punch me in the face._ Even after she’d seemingly recovered from whatever took her over in that moment, she just seemed all kinds of wrong. Jumpy, where she’s so far been confident as all hell. Evasive, quiet. Something has shaken her up, seriously. She’s been doing the job for a lot longer than I have, so I somehow doubt it’s the murder itself that’s the problem. If it’s not that though, what could be causing this reaction from her?

She hasn’t said a word to me in the entire time since she entered that apartment, and that seems to be keeping up as we slowly pull away from the scene, now awash with blue strobe lights. Seems that Twelfth finally managed to find a few units to send here. I spare a glance at Chloe as we head out of the area. Her hand is gripping the steering wheel tightly, so much so that her knuckles are white, and she still looks like her mind is running at a thousand miles an hour. 

“Chloe?” I prompt, as gently as I can. She jumps as though I popped a paper bag next to her head.

“What!” She snaps back at me, making me flinch. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Stupid question, but are you okay? You’ve seemed… a little off since you saw the murder.” I ask. Almost immediately, she seems to react to that. She grits her teeth, and screws the eye I can see from this angle closed. The truck veers slightly, so I’m guessing she shut both for a moment. As they open again, I can see a glinting on the lower part of her eye. Are those… tears?

“Yeah. Never been better.” Chloe deadpans. Her expression tells me pretty clearly that she knows I’m not convinced. 

“No, you’re not.” I counter. “Look, it would make things a lot easier if-”

“Can you _please_ just shut the fuck up and not talk to me about it, for five minutes? Please?” Chloe snaps again, though her voice sounds strained, more like she’s pleading with me to leave her alone than demanding it. 

“Okay. You sure you’re going to be alright?” I ask again, trying my best to be delicate. Right now, however, it feels like even a feather duster would be like a sledgehammer in handling Chloe’s fragile state. She jerks the truck to a halt, throwing me forward unexpectedly. I glance out of the window, realising we’re back at the Precinct.

“Get out.” Chloe mutters. “Go see Mark, down in… down in Forensics. Do whatever the fuck you like. Just leave me alone.” The end of the last sentence came out as a stifled sob. Jesus, she’s a mess. I see no point in worsening her state, so I open the door and get out. Almost as soon as I’ve slammed the door closed, the truck roars off in a cloud of smoke and an ungodly rattling, fading into the murmur of activity. 

The Precinct is still pretty quiet, so I head upstairs. Hopefully Nathan can point me in the right direction of this ‘Mark’ guy. I head upstairs, and walk almost face-first into the guy- Eliot, I think Chloe said his name was- as he’s coming down them.

“Well, look here. Has that dyke gone and abandoned you, now?” He sneers at me. I narrow my eyes at him.

“What business is it of yours, asshole?” 

“Oh, so you’re one of _those_ kinds of fucking women. God, you are all alike.” He scoffs in reply. I move to pass him, but he moves into my path, blocking me. 

“Touch me again, and I swear I’ll have your ass thrown out of this Precinct so fast you won’t have time to hit the floor before you’re over the borderline.” He threatens me. I take a step back, and he takes another toward me. 

“Hey, you stepped into _my_ path. What’s with acting like this all of a sudden?” I fire back, raising my voice just a little. 

“Eliot, leave her the fuck alone.” A voice from behind him calls out. Eliot turns around, revealing the voice to me and him. It’s Nathan. Oh, thank fuck.

“What did you say? I was just having a little fun with her, y’know?” Eliot tries to brush it off, but Nathan’s face says that he’s having none of it.

“No, you weren’t. Now, get out of here and don’t let me catch you harassing Max again. Otherwise, you’ll have me to deal with. And you know who’ll win.” He warns Eliot. Eliot huffs, knocking into me as he stomps down the stairs. Nathan smiles at me as he approaches.

“Yeah, I know what you’re thinking. He’s an asshole. And you’re right, he is. Just let me know if he’s giving you any more shit and I’ll see to it that his ass takes a flight.” Nathan tells me.

I smile back. “Thanks. How exactly do you plan to do that, though?”

Nathan shrugs. “One of the few perks of being a Prescott. To most, I might as well be Adolf fucking Hitler, but at the very least I can call on my dad to deal with anyone like that. Sometimes.”

I nod, merely accepting the fact that Nathan- who is a generally nice guy so far- is in fact the son of _possibly the most hated man in this City._ Commissioner Prescott, who is famed for being akin to a Roman emperor. And not in a good way.

“Yeah. Shocker, I know.” Nathan says. “If it makes you feel any better, I try my best to be nothing like him.”

“That I can believe.” I reassure him. “Chloe dropped me off here, anyway. She says to go speak to Mark, in Forensics?”

Nathan nods. “Basement. Did she just drop you and go? I need to try and talk to her about a few things.”

“Yeah. She seemed really upset. She freaked out at the scene of the murder, and she wasn’t right at all after that. Is she not so cool with murders or something?” I probe. I could use having an idea of what’s wrong with Chloe right now, for her sake as much as mine. Nathan’s brow furrows again as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not too sure if I can help with that. Well, I can, but it’s Chloe’s problem to talk about. If she’ll open up to you at all about it, I’d ask her. I only know a little, what she’s talked to me about-” 

About what? Nathan shakes his head again. “In fact, Mark may be able to shed a little more light on the matter. Now, I need to go home. I’ve gotta get some sleep, Wells needs me to cover a night shift.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Is that _legal_?”

Nathan gives me a knowing smirk. “See you tomorrow, Max.”

The basement is pretty dingy, to say the least. And cold. I knock on the open door gently. “Uh, Mark? Is there a Mark in here.”

I hear something fall on the floor, followed by someone cursing under their breath. “Who are you?” I hear them ask. Footsteps approach me, until I can see someone in the dim light. They’re… imposing, to say the least. Pretty well-built, and a good few inches taller than me. “You’re that new officer, aren’t you? What do you want down here?”

I grimace, confident that he can’t see my face very well. “I’m not exactly new. Chloe said to come speak to you, about the murder we just came from.” I explain.

“Ah. You can wipe that look off your face. Follow me.” He says. I wince, and follow him like a schoolchild who’s just been caught pulling faces behind the teacher. “So, how come Chloe hasn’t come with you? It’s strange of her not to introduce me to people.”

I shrug, and pout pensively. “She’s been acting.. Really _weird_ since she saw the victim. I-”

“Stop.” Mark says. Did I say something wrong? “Could you describe the victim to me? Not the person themselves, but, you know…” 

“I get you.” I answer, saving him the awkwardness of finishing that statement. “They were, uh, tied to a chair. Lacerations, maybe from a knife, or a machete or something, all over their legs. A load of gouges in their chest, too. It looked like they might have been sexually abused, but I’m not sure. Neither am I sure whether that happened while they were alive. Their face was pretty beaten about, bloodied… and they had a bullethole in their forehead. It was a real fucking mess.” I detail. 

Mark sighs. “Wait here a moment. If you’re right, this is _seriously_ bad shit.” With that, he scuttles away into the darkness again. I hear the grating of a metal drawer opening, a file being withdrawn, and a clang as it is slammed shut. A large dossier lands on the desk in front of me, which Mark opens and spreads out, before switching on a small light overhead. “Do these look anything like what you saw, earlier?”

I glance over the photographs, taken aback as much as I am shocked. “Yes. That’s almost identical to what I saw in the apartment. Why, was this killer never caught?”

Mark sighs again, loudly. “Jesus Christ, no wonder Chloe freaked out. While it’s not my story to tell, this killer you describe…” he pauses as he rifles through the files. “...Has _exactly_ the same style, the same M.O. as The Bay Butcher. The reason Chloe must’ve freaked out is because her old partner was murdered by them. Poor girl’s never been the same since.” Mark elaborates, slapping a file down on the table. “And now they’re back. Great.”

I look over the file. God, her old partner was beautiful. I can’t help but feel sorry for Chloe, now I see this. Jesus, no wonder she’s so messed up. “So, what leads do we have? Do we _have_ any leads at all, come to think of it?”

Mark looks at me. “This killer is easily one of the toughest cold-cases we ever had. No, sadly we don’t have anything. Not that it’d make much difference, the son-of-a-bitch always covered their tracks.”

I nod. “Yeah, I noticed. At Christi Li’s apartment. She had a notepad, it looked like a few of the pages had been torn from it. I know Christi wouldn’t do that.”

Mark raises an eyebrow. “How do you know that?”

“I went to school with her, Mark. She was… she was a good friend.” I explain. _Good friend_ doesn’t quite cover how me and Christi were, but given the attitudes of most of this Force, I figure that what he doesn’t know can’t hurt. 

Speaking of hurt, my mind turns to Chloe, and to just how badly this must be fucking with her, knowing the killer that murdered her partner is back out on the loose. I just hope she’s okay now. She ran off, and she was in a pretty bad way when she left, so I just hope she hasn’t done anything stupid.

* * *

It takes everything I have to keep myself together until I’ve slammed the door shut behind me. My knees buckle beneath me as I fall to the floor. Burying my face in my hands as the tears I’ve been holding back finally burst through the floodgates. It’s happening again. All the memories of Rachel, everything that I thought I could keep out of my mind is fighting upfront yet again. All the happy memories, tainted by the sight of her in that chair, helpless, lifeless… 

The memories burn. My stomach turns, forcing me to retch as I cough, the tears having all but run dry. I lie on the floor for a few minutes more, fighting in vain to get the memories in check as I hiccup and sob, but it isn’t working.

I force myself back to my feet, and stumble through to the kitchen. Propping myself up on the counter with one hand, I fumble for the cupboard, eyes blurry and sore as the dried tears sting against my skin. My fingers grasp what I’m looking for, a glass bottle exactly where I left it, and I drag it back out, arm shaking, trying to make sure it doesn’t drop and shatter. I swipe the tumbler from the side as well and stagger across the room. Letting the cap fall to the floor I haphazardly pour the dark brown liquid into a glass, before slamming it down my throat. The burning numbs my throat, taking with it just a little of the pain surging throughout my mind and body. I try to pour another measure into the glass, but between my tear-clouded eyesight and my hands, which refuse to stop shaking, I get more over myself than in the glass, so I stop trying and drink it neat from the bottle. One gulp, two gulps, three. I pull the bottle away from my lips once more to breathe, the glass hanging limply in my hand. I slump back against the wall, a soothing tingling spreading throughout my body as I down yet more whiskey, to the point that I can’t get the bottle up to my mouth properly.

“Drinking again, Chloe?” _That_ voice echoes. I snap my head in the general direction. A blue feather, bloodstained, attached to an ear, missing pieces. I lurch backwards, falling against the floor. She kneels beside me, grinning. I know she isn’t real, but every time these terrors- or whatever the fuck they are- descend on me, that little fact always falls by the wayside. For all it matters right now, Rachel is here, and for however long it takes for this to get out of my head I’m getting a ringside seat to my worst nightmare. 

“What’s the matter, Chloe? It’s not like I’m _dead_ or anything. Unlike you. Sure, you have a pulse. Doesn’t mean you actually have anything worth living for any more.”

“Get away from me!” I scream scrabbling back across the floor. 

“Why would I need to do that?” Rachel’s body appears beside me once again. “I’m never going away. You can try all you like, Chloe, but I’ll always be here. I’m you, remember?”

I clench my fist, forgetting altogether for a moment that there was a glass there. “LEAVE ME ALONE!” I howl again, throwing the bottle across the room. It sails through her, shattering in a spray of whiskey against the wall. She walks over toward me as I shuffle back, whimpering. My back connects with the wall, and I curl into a ball, pulling my hands up toward my face to try and protect myself. I feel a piece of broken glass drag across my face, but I don’t care. 

“Why couldn’t you have waited until we had someone to support us, Chloe?” Rachel asks. “Why did you let me die?”

“I- I didn’t!” I choke. “I- I tried my best! There was nobody else to back us up, we checked that!”

Rachel frowns at me. “That’s a pretty pathetic excuse. You never could take responsibility for things you fucked up. You never were any good at getting things right!”

“You’re not real.” I whine. “You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real!” I squeeze a little tighter on my hands, gritting my teeth as I feel the pain of the glass slicing into my skin. This has to be a bad dream. I just need to wake up. I want to wake up!

Rachel strides up to me once more, running a smooth hand under my chin. “No, I’m not. But when did that stop you from thinking that I was?”

Silence. With the exception of the sounds outside with the traffic still moving past, and the odd siren, my apartment is silent. Empty. I slowly retract my hands from my face. I’m alone again. My bottle is smashed against the wall opposite me, the glass sprayed across the same area that is darkly stained by the liquid spilled across the floor. I look at my hands, cut and bloody where they’ve been gouged by the broken glass around me. My face feels stick from where they’ve been in contact with my face. I brush my hands together, grimacing as I feel the pieces of glass drag across them before finally coming loose and falling to the floor. I look at them again. My palms are slick with blood, red stains getting on whatever I touch. I wrap my hands around my knees as I curl into a ball again, my eyes watering again as the emotions build again.

“Rachel-” is the only coherent word I get out, before the tears fall again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. You now get an idea of _why_ Chloe is how she is here. It’ll be made clearer still next chapter. 
> 
> A lot of the challenge so far has been writing scenes like these and trying to get the details just right, the little intricacies that make it feel like you are there, without losing the coherence of the story. I’ve got exams coming up in the next month so there will be delays while I prep for them, however I should be able to drop the next chapter by June probably.
> 
> I have worse news, though. Something which I wish never happened.
> 
> The association I’ve had with LazyLazer and Thanks_for_the_letters has effectively ended as of April 1st. I wish that was an April Fool’s joke, but it isn’t. 
> 
> Sorry if my quality of writing drops sharply, as of now I’m back to being en solo. Odds are this story will be my final project before I stop writing altogether. It’s a shame, but a few major differences in outlook meant that it made more sense to disband rather than remain with the divides that existed. A large part of it is my fault, granted, but this isn’t how I wanted to see things turn out. I'm still aiming for 8000 words per chapter minimum, though, so hopefully that target helps keep my quality of writing up. It'll just be motivation and encouragement that I lack.
> 
> Will we reform? I don't know. As the party that is primarily accountable having somewhat precipitated the events causing this, it’s not my call to make. That being said, if in a few months from either or both of my former co-authors ask me to reform with them, I’d jump at the opportunity.
> 
> Hopefully this story won’t suffer the same fate as _A New Horizon_ but right now, in this frame of mind and with the loss of the collaboration that helped make it what it was, I cannot give you any solid guarantees.
> 
> Sorry if that sounds bad. It hasn’t been a fun day with all of this. I’ll try and keep things rolling for you all though. Strangely, Bowie for the final scene felt fitting in respect to how I feel also right now. Edit: Still fits my feelings a full 24 hours later.
> 
> See you all later.  
> Adder.


	3. Relax!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turn of events sees an unexpected and drastic change for Max and Chloe. Chloe decides to entice Max into relaxing off-shift in a club with her, where she resolves to lay out the demons brought to the forefront by the scene of the murder. Max finds herself slowly warming to Chloe and her unorthodox ways, as an old friend of Max's throws yet another wildcard into the mix.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not about to try and make out in this story that there weren't good and bad cops, and you have already seen that with both Warren and Eliot. Without saying much more, there is significance to that. However, for the most part I'm going to try and balance the portrayal of the police kinda equally where I can.
> 
> As is, the fact of it being a police AU isn't even the most important part, in a way. Think along the lines of the first Lethal Weapon with a few elements from the third and you’re on the right lines for the concept of the original plot. Plus some character development and some other... fun. ;)
> 
> Anyway… this chapter is going to be a mixture of angst, flashbacks, a little humour and the fuse is going to be lit on the Pricefield slowburn. ;)
> 
> Also, this chapter got waaaaay out of hand. My target is 8k, I started out after a while worrying that I couldn’t hit it, and then got partway into a scene thinking “Right, I’m nearly at 7,500 words and still need to write two and a bit scenes. Crap.”
> 
> Still, this should give you something to disseminate while I get my head around what to write next.
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNINGS: ALCOHOL ABUSE, GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF A MURDER, IMPLIED DOMESTIC ABUSE**

_10th April, 1985_

_Bay City, Northwest_

_10.30 pm_

I jolt and snap out of my daydream as I hear a loud banging on the door. Who the hell would come and pay me a visit at this time of night? Chloe, perhaps? Don't be ridiculous. She doesn't even know where you live, much less does she want to see you when you're off-duty. Besides, she hates you enough already, and given the state she was in earlier she’s probably going to be in no state to come and seek you out. I get up from where I’d been sitting and stretch off, groaning as my joints ache slightly. Damn, how does my body feel this wrecked when I’m still so young? No matter. I slip my shirt back on. Taking a brief glance around the apartment, I realise just how long it’s been since I last really had time to do any housekeeping. Or a laundry run. I approach the door slowly, as the banging continues. Seriously, who the fuck would be _this_ belligerent at my door?

"Max, let me the fuck in!" Ugh. It’s him. The belligerence makes so much more sense now. Sure enough, the door’s open, but the door chain is keeping the man-sized sack of shit outside on my doorstep where I want him to stay. I step toward the door, acutely aware in my mind of exactly _why_ I keep that chain fitted when I’m in. I’m not letting him in no matter what.

“I swear to fucking God, Max, if you don’t take this chain off the door I’m going to break it off myself!”

I stay behind the door. I don’t want to see his face, nor to have to deal with him face-to-face. I already left the Precinct, what more could he possibly want? Urgh, of course. He still has that _fucking_ key for this place. Perhaps I should try and get it off of him.

“Look, Warren, I don’t know what you think you’re doing by coming here and bothering me. I already transferred, so why are you still harassing me?”

I hear laughter from the other side of the door. “What, you thought it’d be as easy as that? You move Precincts, I leave you be?” Well, obviously I did, you prick. “Well, it isn’t. You still have something that belongs to me, bitch. Your key. And I want it.” He states.

I almost choke on my own breath. “ _YOUR_ key?! It’s _MY_ fucking apartment!” I bellow back, enraged. What the fuck business does he have coming here, demanding I turn over my apartment to him?!

“Not any more it isn’t, Max. You forfeited that right when you broke up with me.”

“I never dated you in the first place, Warren.” I remind him. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”

“I never said you had an option to ignore me here, Max.” He chides me. “In fact, I’m giving you ten minutes. If you’re not out within ten minutes, I’ll see to it that that precious _career_ you seem so fucking bothered about is burned down, and I’ll make sure to piss on the ashes. What do you want the headline to be, by the way?”

“What- What the fuck are you talking about?” I yell back at him.

“The headline, when you get busted. _‘Dirty cop’s apartment raided- ten pounds of cocaine seized’_ . I’m sure that’ll be just _perfect_ for the front pages.” He taunts me. “And you know I’ll win. I always win.” 

I screw my eyes tight as I try to stop the tears from falling. This is what it’s come to. Being forced out of my home by that piece of _shit_ , or see what I’ve built up be brought down around me. I wouldn’t even be able to stop him- I know just how he likes making those fucking plants. I slam against the door, and lock it from inside with my key. I hear him rattling with his key in the lock, swearing and cursing as I stumble back toward my main living area. I’m just glad that I’m as disorganised as I am sometimes, as I quite easily find my dad’s old holdall among some other things. I know I’ve only got a few precious minutes left in this space which once was mine. 

I grab the box from under my bed, still full of the few personal mementos I chose not to leave at home when I moved here; a few changes of clothes follow it into my bag. I scour the place briefly, trying to decide what else I really need, what else really matters to me. I see it sitting on the counter, something that matters more to me than pretty much anything else. A picture of me and dad, one of the happiest memories I have. I look at it for a moment, numb to the splashes on the thin glass as my tears hit it, running my thumb along the edge of the frame. Gently, I slot it into my bag as well. Just like that, three years of building my life up, and a mishmash of memories good and bad, fit into ten minutes of packing time and one service holdall. I take one last look around this place, with its stained and peeling wallpaper, worn old carpet, and marked furniture. I’m going to miss this place. 

I wipe the tears from my eyes and make my way to the door. I remove the door chain, almost pulling it from its fittings with the amount of force I apply. I turn the key in the door and wrench the door open, sending Warren- who was leaning on the door- sprawling into the hallway. I ball my fist up around the key until it hurts, and throw the small object at him with as much force as I can put behind it.

“Have the fucking key. And leave me the _fuck_ alone.” I yell at him, my voice cracking as I finish the sentence. He scrambles to his feet as I head down onto the street, and attempts to follow me. I draw my pistol and point it at him as the tears continue to roll down my face. Even amid the look of surprise, the smug satisfaction of what he’s done is still written onto his face. “I swear to God, if you try and stalk me, I will fucking shoot you. To hell with what happens after.” Sure enough, without another word spoken, he backs up and goes into my- _former_ \- apartment. As if the weather-gods themselves have some twisted and horrible sense of humour about what’s going on, a faint rumble rolls through the air above the city. A few seconds later, the rain comes. It starts off light as I trudge along the street, the darkness only broken by the streetlights and the headlights of an occasional car, a wake of misty water in its wake. An occasional flash of lightning illuminates everything around me as I walk onward. As I continue onward, the intensity of the downpour grows, from a shower to an incessant deluge which soaks me to the bone. I shiver, my drenched clothes only adding to my misery as the rainwater flowing down my face mixes with the tears. 

Where do I go now? I’d sooner drown myself in the Bay than go back where I just came from. I’m not giving that prick the satisfaction, never again. So what can I do? 

I press on, in the direction of the other side of the City. I have one idea, and one idea only. That idea relies on someone’s compassion, and I’m not sure if they’re willing to show me any.

* * *

_11th April, 1985_

_Bay City, East_

_4.22 am_

I stir as I hear someone knocking on the door. I groan as I open my eyes, staring at the ceiling. I roll over, wincing as I realise I’ve been lying in broken glass, against the wall in my living area. How did that get there? Come to think of it, why am I lying on the floor and not in my bed, and why the fuck does my apartment smell of whiskey? I close my eyes and take a breath, as I try and rationalise things a little. I probably passed out from stress again, or drank myself into unconsciousness. If I live much beyond thirty-five at this rate, it’ll be punishment from the Gods.

I hear that knocking at the door again. “Gimme a fucking second, Jesus Christ.” I grumble, as I get on my feet. Who the fuck comes round someone’s house at this time of morning? What time even is _this time_ of morning, anyway? I squint at the clock, trying to get rid of the latent blurriness in my eyes. The red digits clear up, and I groan as the clock mocks me some more. Wait, why the fuck is someone at my house at four in the fucking morning? I’m glad I’ve got a day off tomorrow.

I shuffle toward the door, as a white flash illuminates the otherwise dark room. Holy shit, that’s a hella big storm for this time of year. I would not wanna be out in this, not a chance. I prop myself up against the wall and slam my hand against it, trying to figure out where the light switch is. After a few attempts, the entrance to my apartment is bathed in an off-white light, making me squint some more. I really need to get that looked at, it’s probably gonna blind me or something stupid like that. A clumsy hand gropes around in my pocket for my keys, grabbing them and dropping them on the floor. I bend down, head still somewhat light-headed, and swipe at the floor, trying to pick them up again. The floor rushes up, hitting me in the face as I fall ass-over-elbow.

“Ow, fuck!” I grumble as I give my face a slight carpet-burn. My hand shuffles around the floor some more, eventually locating the key. I grope upward, my hand latching onto the door handle as I drag myself back to my feet. Jesus, how much did I drink before I passed out? I jab the key at the door a few times, scraping against several well-developed gouges as I miss the lock time and again. I swear to fuck, that little bastard of a hole keeps moving around _just_ to irritate me. Finally, I manage to make it hit its mark, slotting into the narrow gap with the sound of the metal grating against the lock.

“Yes! Fuck you, door!” I can’t help but exclaim to myself, ignoring entirely that there may be someone on my doorstep still. I start my sentence as I yank the door open. “Who the _fuck_ comes and… disturbs…” I trail off at the sight on my doorstep, my semi-inebriated brain finding a near-immediate sobriety as it catches up with the images it's getting from my eyes.

Well, shit. I give Max a look up and down as she stands before me, unspeaking. She looks to be completely soaked through, her hair matted down against her scalp, a few messy clumps down across her face. She looks shattered, defeated. Over her shoulder is what looks like an old service-issue holdall, almost as full as someone could get it. I take a deep breath, trying not to blow my top immediately.

“What. Are you doing. On my doorstep. _At this time of the_ fucking _morning?_ ” I growl at her, my attempts to hold back sheer rage failing with each syllable. She holds her free hand up, looking at me. Not angry, annoyed, not anything. In fact, the only emotion I can see behind her shaky neutral expression is one of a broken woman. She’s doing a very good job of keeping it under wraps so far, I gotta admit.

“Look, Chloe… I know this is out of the blue. I know we don’t see eye-to-eye, and I totally get that you would probably rather run me over with your truck. I probably deserve it too, just on merit of cuffing you to it last week. I- I need to ask you a _massive_ favour.”

I raise an eyebrow, leaning against the wall, as much to keep me upright as for any other purpose. “Oh yeah? And what might _that_ be?”

Her gaze averts mine again. “I need somewhere to stay. For now, at least.”

 _WHAT?_ I can’t help but chuckle. “Are you fucking serious? _Me_ , take _you_ in? And what did you expect, me to just let you waltz on in?”

She shrugs, and the look on her face seems even more sullen. “Well, this was my best bet. I figured I either ask if I can stay with you, or I see if there’s a cell spare down at the Precinct I can make up as somewhere dry to stay. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to do it.”

“You missed _why_ the fuck you’re here, pestering me, at _THIS TIME IN THE FUCKING MORNING!_ ” I yell at her, my patience snapping at last. Max flinches again. My eyes widen as I realise what I just did. “I-I’m sorry. You’ve just picked the worst possible fucking night to come here.” 

She’s staring at the floor now, refusing to even lift her head up to look at me as she speaks. “Warren… that fucking piece of shit… he- he threw me out of my own fucking home.” She whimpers, her shoulders sagging as she seems to start sobbing. I step off the doorstep, immediately being hit by the sheet of rain still beating down on the city. Shit, that’s cold! How is Max barely flinching?! I wrap my arms around her and shepherd her inside, kicking the door closed behind me. I stand in the hallway for a couple of moments, hands on Max’s shoulders, neither of us really saying a word as the rainwater drips off of us onto the carpet. A moment or two later, she body-slams into me, wrapping her arms over mine. My mouth’s moving, but no words are coming out. 

“Thank you!” I hear her wail into my chest, as she sobs some more. I can’t help but feel my stomach sinking as I think about what she’s had to deal with. After a while, she lets her bear-hug loose. Egh, I’m even wetter now than when I’d darted out into the rain. I gesture to the couch, trying not to show my discomfort at the cold and wet sensation of my top sticking to my stomach, and as Max turns away from me I discreetly peel the saturated cotton away from my belly. 

“Uh, hope you don’t mind… I’ve only one bed, so the couch will have to do.” 

Max nods, smiling through the tears and the water still dripping down her face. “It looks a lot more comfortable than the beds in most jail cells I’ve ever slept in, that’s for sure.”

I shrug. “I know.” How do I know? Well, I’ve spent my fair share of time in such cells before. Hey, I wasn’t always a cop, and I did some pretty dumb things as a kid. “Excuse the mess, and the smell… not that I can smell it if the place stinks of liquor.” I head over to where my kitchen-come-various-uses area is and put my kettle on the stove. I’m awake now, might as well try and kick what’s left of the alcohol out of my system. Especially seeing as I have a lodger now, I really do _NOT_ wanna start freaking out and hallucinating around Max.

My hand reaches over to switch on the radio. From experience, at this time of night there’s usually some decent shit on the airwaves and I could seriously use something, anything, to get my mind and my eyes off of Max as she undresses, facing away from me and seemingly _oblivious_ to my gawking at her. I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now but I don’t like it _one bit._ I wince as I recognise the opening strumming riff of the incoming song, followed by the [ howl of the frontman ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BN1WwnEDWAM).

“Oh, come the fuck on? REALLY?” I yell at the radio. I swear to fuck, the world just likes messing with me. Max looks over her shoulder at me, confused. She’s halfway through stripping off her sodden clothes, and unpacking. I can’t help but notice a few strange marks on her back, where the skin looks different to the skin surrounding it. The light in here isn’t great, though, so I could just as easily be seeing things. I’m not going to bring it up here and now, though.

“What’s the matter, Chloe? I figured this was your kinda jam.” She asks. I can’t help but pay more attention to _her_ than what she’s saying, before snapping out of it. I kinda heard her question. And she really _is_ quite something.

“Huh?” I grunt at her.

“I said, is this song not your kinda jam anyway? Why are you so pissed off about it being on the radio?”

I can’t help but let my face drop a little. “Well… you can’t sit there, listening to this song and its lyrics, and _seriously_ tell me that it isn’t just a _little bit ironic_. Right?” 

Max listens to the song a little bit more, before her cheeks flush a little. “Oh. _Oh._ Right. God, I’m an idiot sometimes.” 

I smile, just a little bit, before a question formulating in the back of my head wipes it from my face. “Max, how the hell did you find me?”

Max shrugs again. “After I left- what used to be- my apartment, I headed to the Precinct. Bumped into Nathan, he got called in for a night shift. He dropped me off about a block away. He’d offered to bring me all the way, but I still figured I’d walk.”

I raise my head a little in acknowledgement, before narrowing my eyes on her again. “Walked from _where_ , exactly?”

“My old apartment. It was a couple of blocks away from my old Precinct. I never bothered getting a car when I moved here, I figured walking would do me some good.” Max answers. I can feel my eyes trying to pop out of their sockets as it occurs to me exactly _how_ far she’s walked. In that fucking shitstorm outside, no less.

“Dude, that’s like, at least three miles!”

Max nods. “Eh, it’s not all that far to walk.”

My hands start gesticulating wildly and involuntarily “Yeah, but in case you didn’t notice it, there’s a _fucking huge storm_ _out!_ ”

Max shrugs again. “It could be worse. I prefer rain to snow. At least in a storm like this, I’m not likely to slip and fall on my ass a dozen times on the way here.”

“That’s not what I’m getting at, Max.” I continue, any kind of anger or surprise dropping from my voice. “Dude, I’m _so_ fucking sorry for tearing into you earlier. If I’d known-”

Max holds a hand up, and for whatever reason, I stop talking. Given how well us two have been getting along in the last week or so, I’m amazed that she seems to have this power over me. “Chloe, seriously, it’s fine.” Max starts chuckling a little, before shivering and pulling a rug over herself. “If anything, I sure as shit deserved to be torn into, _especially_ after last week.”

She rolls her shoulders a little, before lying out flat on the couch and shuffling, until she’s gotten herself comfortable. “Sorry to seem boring, Chloe, but I am utterly _fucked_ after the day I’ve had. See you in the morning. Well, later in the morning, I guess.” Within a matter of seconds, she’s fast asleep, chest rising and falling gently beneath the rug, breath whistling a little as it leaves her body. She is _cute_. 

I blink a couple of times as I play that last thought back in my head again. A familiar churning begins to roil my stomach, as everything else I’ve tried to bury under mountains of empty bottles and sleepless nights slowly throws off its covers. That familiar feeling as reminders of what I had, what I lost, float through the back of my mind like mist. The reason I’m in this state tonight. 

No. I’m not letting these thoughts stay in my head a second longer. Drunk and fantasising over someone who- in a sober mindset- I would throttle happily. What a fucking state, Price. I take the kettle off the hob, empty its contents into the nearest half-clean thing- a pan of some kind, I think- and empty it down my gullet, trying my best not to gag at the hot beverage surging down through my dry and cold throat. With nothing better to do, and a desire to _not_ stare at Max’s sleeping form any longer- I’m having a hard enough time as it is processing all of the shitshow that was yesterday- I head to my room, and collapse fully-clothed onto the bed.

* * *

_11th April, 1985_

_Chloe’s Apartment_

_12.45 pm_

I roll my shoulders and groan a little, back stiff from having shifted and slept in a more awkward position than what I’d gotten myself comfortable in earlier. There’s a pretty strong smell of alcohol, one I must’ve missed last night. I loll my head back against the rough and worn leather, looking at the wall behind me. At its foot lies a broken bottle of liquor, dark blotches staining the wallpaper and carpet around it. The smell of the liquor is fighting in my nose with something else, though I'm not too sure what it is. Groaning a little at the stiffness in my body, I pivot my legs onto the floor, and glance toward the kitchen area of Chloe's apartment. She's sat at the table, head propped up on her elbows as she stares at the stove. Atop it is yet another pot of coffee, slowly heating over the flames and- presumably- creating the contrasting aroma against the spilled alcohol from last night. Jesus, I thought I was bad for caffeine-fuelled insomnia. As it begins whistling, I rummage around where I’d put my stuff last night, grabbing a few items of dry-ish clothing to wear. A very brief look at her face reveals a little bit of reddening beneath her eyes. Fatigue, or something else?

“You’re awake, at last.” Chloe murmurs, as she stands up and arches her back to stretch, closing her eyes and groaning softly as she does. I can feel a strange somethingness somewhere down in my body as I watch her. I know that feeling, vaguely, but I brush it off as I notice it in earnest. 

“What time is it?” I ask her, voice still laden with sleep as I yawn once more, closing my eyes as I do so. I notice Chloe’s staring at me, much like I was her, as I reopen them. She blinks a couple of times and flinches, before resuming what she was doing.

“Uh, about one in the afternoon. I’ve been up a while already, which is why I’ve got coffee on the go.” Chloe explains.

“How long is _a while_?” I probe again. She shrugs again, pouting. I resist the urge to crack a smile or a giggle, the expression on her face is ridiculous!

“Eh… I didn’t bother to keep track. I don’t sleep all that well, I guess.” She deadpans. Less out of annoyance at me, and probably more just out of sheer exhaustion. “I cooked something for you earlier, too. Hope you aren’t a vegetarian.” She states, a wry smirk on the corner of her lips, as I finish dressing and come over to the small table in the kitchen area. 

As I do, I take my first proper look around her apartment. It reminds me a little of my old place, similarly run-down, about as disorganised, and as cosy. The big differences are the larger quantity of empty booze bottles littering the table, and a few other small differences; a few posters for what look like punk or rock bands. Figures. I pick up the bacon sandwich- albeit lukewarm, though that’s more my own fault for how long I’ve been out- and take a bite.

“Jesus, Chloe!” I mumble through a half-full mouth. “Where’d you learn to cook like this?” 

Chloe grins, as she clumsily swipes her mug from the table. “Mom works at a diner. I suppose some of her know-how brushed off on me before I bounced and left home.”

I wolf the sandwich down as I realise just how hungry I actually am. I suppose being physically and mentally drained last night numbed a lot of things, including my appetite. A few gulps of coffee closely follow it down into my stomach, the bitterness of the black and unsugared drink not bothering me in the slightest at this moment in time. All the while, I notice Chloe staring at me, seemingly enthralled. I don’t think she realises I can see her, and a slight cough startles her, nearly making her overbalance and fall off her chair. At the very least, that’s the impression I get from her yelping and windmilling her arms as the chair teeters on two legs for a moment.

“Sorry. I, uh, zoned out, I think.” She tries to explain away what was going on. For her sake, I’ll play along with it. She gulps down the last of her coffee, clumsily slapping the mug back onto the table. “I’m gonna head out shortly, neeed to go get my head straight. I’ll leave yoou here, so yoou can… get yourself comfortable.” She says. She stands up, and almost immediately has to windmill her arms to avoid falling flat on her face. I bolt up onto my feet, putting my hands on her shoulders to stabilise her. “Woah, easy Chloe!”

Chloe shakes my hands off, as she attempts to grab her keys from the table. “I’m fiiine, Max. Seriously.” She argues, her words sounding just a little bit slurred.

“Where are you going? Are you driving?” I ask, a strangely protective side to me coming into play.

“An old friend’s. And yeah, I gotta driiive, but I’ll be fiiine.” She replies, again arguing her sobriety- or at least, how fit she is to drive. Yeah, not happening, Chloe. Especially if you’re slurring your words like that.

“You absolutely are _not_ fucking fine, Chloe.” I scold her. “I bet you can’t even stand up straight.” 

“Pssh.” She mocks me, taking her weight off of the chair she’s been leaning on since I let go of her. She starts swaying gently from side to side, like a metronome, before overbalancing once again and tumbling. I barely catch her mid-fall, as she starts giggling, giving me a massive, stupid grin. 

“Chloe!” I snap at her. “You are _not_ going _anywhere_ in this state, not unless I’m driving. Christ, in this state getting arrested by our own Precinct would be the best case scenario.” I state again, clasping my hands around the keys in her hand. After some mumbled protests and resistance, she finally relinquishes them. Using me to get back on her feet, she loops an arm over my shoulder. 

“Okaay, Max. Let’s goo.” She slurs again.I shake my head as I coax her towards the door. The warmth of her body against mine is kinda nice, I must admit.

 _Of course you’d think that, Maxine._ That infernal voice returns. I subtly shake it from my head once more. Not today. Not now.

I carefully manhandle Chloe into a position by the door so that she doesn’t fall over while I lock the door behind us. “I suppose only you would consider drink-driving,” I comment, mainly to myself, as I twist the keys in the door, a solid clunk confirming that no squatters nor burglars will make themselves at home while we’re gone. “Or driving in whatever state…” the sentence stops dead in my mouth as I turn to face Chloe. She’s stood upright, perfectly fine, arms crossed with a wide, smug grin on her face. I give her a curious stare, the look falling off my face as I realise just how easily she’s tricked me into playing chauffeur.

“You sneaky bitch!” I exclaim, as Chloe starts laughing. She roughly pats me on the shoulder as we head toward her truck. 

“Hey, you said I’m not going anywhere unless you’re driving. Soo… onwards, driver.” She retorts, giving me another grin. 

As irritating as it is to have been duped by her, I gotta give her credit. She really did have me going. And I can’t deny that trick, she did a great job of getting me. I’m not going to get out of driving her, I suppose, so I might as well grin and bear handling this four-wheeled monstrosity.

Still, damn her!

* * *

"So, what's the thing with you and Lieutenant Asswipe?" Chloe asks me as she lays back on the passenger seat, gulping down a bottle of Coke. God, she is insufferable- she's had me drive her to a Seven-Eleven, just to get something to drink. All the while I've had a constant stream of questions from her, slightly prying every time.

"What do you mean, the _thing_ between me and him?" I ask in return. 

Chloe chuckles. "Well… I don’t know many people who’d willingly give over a key to a dickwad like Warren _unless_ there was something going on between them. What, did Maxie have boy-troubles?” She starts chuckling at her own horrible joke, the damned cheek of her. Happily, I have my own way of getting back at her without words.

I jab the brakes suddenly, seeing Chloe spit her drink over herself out of the corner of my eye as she lurches forward in her seat. “Asshole.” She grumbles at me as she wipes her face and pulls her drink-soaked clothes away from her chest, a few blackish droplets still falling from her chin. I can’t hold back a devious cackle. That being said, that weird fuzziness in my abdomen is back as I look at her. Something about Chloe when she’s annoyed is really, inexplicably cute and- Oh, fuck.

Why am I going down this line of thought again? “Hey, you had that one coming.” I reply as I set off once again. “As is, Warren having my key isn’t because I had any kinda feelings for him. _Ever_. No, that’s from when I was younger. And more naive.”

“Do elaborate.” Chloe coos, leaning back in her seat again and getting comfortable. I sigh, as I think back on what in retrospect was among my worst decisions ever. 

“I’d just started at Fourth. At the time, Warren… seemed like a nice guy. Looking back, it shoulda been a massive red flag that there was almost no female cops there. He was being all nice to me, offering to help me settle in. And asked for a key, just in case he needed to check on me or whatever. And stupid, _stupid_ me gave it him.” I recall, taking a hand off the wheel to drag over my face in frustration. I swear, if I could time-travel I’d go back and throttle past-me.

“Hey.” Chloe says, somewhat more contrite than I’m used to hearing her. “Don’t lose sleep over that shitbag. He’s been a chauvinistic prick for as long as I can remember and then some. I’m pretty sure I got suspended once over for kicking him in the balls when he tried being all forceful up in my face.” She adds, with a grin. I can’t help but look across at her.

“Suspended _once over_. You mean to say you’ve been suspended more than once before now?” I ask her. 

She looks away from me, but I can see an awkward expression on her face and a slightly red tinge on her upper cheek. “I take _that_ as a yes.” I state, seeing her wince. Part of me really wonders what _else_ she’s been suspended for, but from what little I already know of Chloe I can only imagine that it’ll be a variety of humiliating and inappropriate things. I pay a little more attention to the neighbourhood we’re in, realising it all looks run-down. “Sure we’re in the right area?”

Chloe looks back at me- is she… blushing? “Yeah, we’re in the right place. Where we’re going is down the next left.”

A few minutes later, we’ve pulled up outside whatever this place is. Chloe hops out almost immediately, coaxing me along with her.

* * *

Inside this place is kinda familiar, I’m not sure why. It’s a club of some kind, all kinds of folks seem to be relaxing. Some of the decor and furnishings remind me a little of a diner, and some of something else, kind of a Roman aesthetic to it. Not sure how on earth they managed to make the two styles mesh together and look nice, but my goodness they’ve done it. I swear I recognise the general feel of this place, though, I just can’t put my finger on it. There’s a few dancers of some kind over at one end of the club, dressed in what looks like a scanty styling of Centurion outfit. I can’t say I recognise the song on right now, but it quickly fades out, replaced by a [ ferry horn ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wN2tHv8gPm8&t=0m20s) as the next song begins. 

The lights start strobing in sync with the beat of the song, and I get a sinking feeling as I pay more attention to the place. The frontman of the track being blasted out calling out ‘Relax!’- almost immediately followed by the dancers on-stage entering a strip routine- quite abruptly makes it obvious what this is. “Shit!” I curse, wincing as the penny drops. Naturally, Chloe has brought us into _exactly_ the kind of place that we’ll catch hell for. She gives me another dirty look.

“Is there anything about you that _isn’t_ shitty?” She whines. “First, you insult me. Then, you cuff me to my truck _and_ report me. _AND_ you’re a pray-away-the-gay type. God give me strength.” She mutters.

“Hey, I never said I was against people who are gay!” I yell back at her over the blaring music. “In fact, the only thing bothering me in here are those lights, they are fucking _intense!_ ” Her expression seems to soften a little, but she is still being defensive. 

“Okay. So why the fuck did you wince when you realised where we are?” She asks, her stare boring into me. That look doesn’t seem angry, so much as curious.

“Well, given that you’re already in enough shit with Wells- and yeah, part of that really _is_ my fault- he’ll be looking for a reason to bust your ass. What happens if he finds out we were here?”

Chloe starts laughing heartily, patting me on the shoulder as she guides me toward the bar. “Chillax, Max, I come in here all the time. The odds of him finding out are precisely… dick.” She declares, gently coaxing me onto a stool briefly. “So, what does a lady like you drink?” 

I look at her, slightly surprised. “I’m driving, remember?” I remind her. She waves a hand at me, almost dismissive of the statement.

“Fuck that, dude. One drink isn’t going to kill you.” Chloe replies. “What’ll it be?”

I roll my eyes. No point arguing over it. I suppose she has a point, provided I don’t drink anything too strong, or that we stay for a while. “Okay, red wine.”

“Wine?” Chloe asks me, as though she doesn’t believe me, before she turns to the bartender. “Yo, Amy! Usual for me, and some port for my girl here.”

“Chloe!” I yell at her. “What happened to wine?” Also, ‘ _my girl here’_?! What?

She grins at me. “I’ve no intention of leaving any time soon. So unless you’re a lightweight or you plan on leaving my ass here, you might as well get something worthwhile.” She slides the glass of dark red liquor over the bar, gently into my grasp. “C’mon, let’s go sit somewhere comfier.” There’s a booth, strangely empty while the others around it are full. Chloe’s already drunk through a sizeable amount of alcohol in her glass by the time we sit down. Chloe roughly falls into the seat opposite me, though she seems relatively unfazed by her drink. By contrast, I sip a small mouthful of my port wine down, coughing as it burns in the back of my throat a little. 

“Aww, can Maxie not handle her drink?” Chloe teases me, leaning on her hands as she props herself up on the table. I can’t help but give her the finger, scowling a little.

“That stuff’s like liquid fire, Chloe! How the hell can you drink stuff like this so easily?” I answer back. She grins for a moment, but the smile wears away again.

“It, uh, it takes the edge off of things. Bad memories.” She confesses, avoiding eye contact with me. “I have more than I wanted to have. That’s kinda why I was so pissy last night, sorry.” 

“So I hear.” I comment, as I try and drink some more of this- incredibly strong- port. “And you don’t have to apologise, really _I_ should probably be the one apologising. I mean, I did exactly as you suggested, went and saw Mark. He… he explained a few things. I get why you reacted how you did now. I’m sorry you had to go through that. Any of it.”

Chloe looks at me for a moment, a soured expression on her face. I wish I hadn’t said anything. “What exactly did he and didn’t he tell you?” 

I shrug, taking another little sip of port. “He- he told me a little about what happened. That your old partner was murdered. But he didn’t tell me much more than that, just that it ‘wasn’t his story to tell’.” 

“Damn right it isn’t.” Chloe snaps, upending her glass and emptying its contents down her throat, before beckoning a bar waiter over and ordering more alcohol. As the guy walks off- a very well-toned guy, at that- Chloe returns her stare to me. Again, this stare doesn’t seem angry. Well, there’s a little anger in there, but it doesn’t seem to be the overriding emotion, nor does it seem to be directed at me. “However, seeing as we’re going to be living together… I suppose I’d best out my fucking demons.” Chloe states, grabbing the two tumblers from the waiter’s plate and immediately emptying one, shuddering as the alcohol takes effect. “You’d better get comfortable. Mark was right, she was murdered. What he _didn’t_ tell you is where I was throughout. I had a ringside seat, and I-” She stops for a moment, tilting her head back and screwing her eyes shut. I can see a slight glint beneath her eyes, as she tries to stop the tears forming. “I couldn’t fucking stop it. I couldn’t save her.”

I look at Chloe, slack-jawed as I register the detail. “Holy shit. I’m so, so sorry Chloe. That must have been fucking horrible.”

She swigs from her remaining glass, as she leans forward. The tears are rolling down her cheeks, reflecting in the occasional white strobes from the stage. “It was worse than that. Much, much worse. It was supposed to be just a welfare check, something simple...” She begins, as she starts to recount the whole, heart-rending incident through her own eyes.

* * *

_19th February, 1983_

_Bay City, Eastern District_

_7.45 pm_

I pull the truck to a halt outside the address the Dispatcher had given us and glance out of the window, killing the burble of the engine as I do. This place looks pretty run-down. From the outside alone, the worn wood trim, snakling vines and dirty, cracked windows suggests this place hasn't been lived in for a few years at least. 

"So, remind me why we're here again?" Rachel asks, leaning over my shoulder and staring at the seemingly abandoned house before us.

I glance back at her, a slight smile on my face at how she, as ever, has read my mind. “Because apparently, some Senior Citizen forgot to ring her daughter for a few days. Why exactly they’re sending us to perform a welfare check is beyond me, but here we are.” I answer, before I glance at the house again. “It does kinda bug me though, that place looks like it should be a haunted house at a fairground. Something seems off about this whole thing.”

“M-hm.” Rachel acknowledges. “Wanna try and call in the cavalry, just in case?”

I nod, snatching the microphone to the police scanner mounted in my truck. “Uh, Dispatch, Whiskey 2-1. We could use some backup on this welfare check. Something seems off, and we could use some more officers here. Over.”

There’s a minute or so between my call out and the reply from Dispatch. “Whiskey 2-1, Dispatch. We have no available forces in the area. Sorry ladies, looks like you’re on your own. Out.” 

“Well, that’s great.” Rachel comments. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” Before I can say a word more, she’s clambering over my lap and opening my door, practically dragging me off my seat as she hops out. I barely avoid eating the overgrown lawn as she watches me, giving me her typical impish smile. She loves making me look like an ass. I guess it doesn’t take much effort.

The steps up to the front door creak as we both make our way up them, toward the worn and cracked front door, which itself is ajar. Rachel’s a step or two ahead of me, and I see her hand slip into the back of her waistband, drawing her pistol. 

“You’re right, Chloe.” She mutters. “Something is way off about this. Looks like the place has been abandoned for years. I don’t like this one bit.”

I nod, more to myself than to her as her back is still turned, also drawing my handgun as we slowly creep into the derelict structure. 

“Let’s sweep upstairs first, just so we don’t get jumped.” I suggest to Rachel. She nods as we head toward the rickety and splintering staircase ahead, slowly making our way up, keeping a few feet between us. The interior of this house is just as derelict as the exterior, dated wallpaper peeling from cracked walls, broken lightbulbs in corroded fittings adorning parts of the walls. I stop for a moment, sniffing the air. It smells metallic. “Smell that, Rach?”

She turns back to me, sniffing the air briefly as well. “Yeah. Smell of blood’s pretty strong. I knew something felt off.” She confirms, her eyes following something on the floor. “Trail seems to lead into this room.” She takes hold of the door handle, carefully opening it and peering inside, bringing her gun up as the door fully opens. It looks like a slaughterhouse in here, and I feel my stomach turning just a little. This place feels _evil._ Like something really, _really_ unspeakable happened in here. Rachel has moved a little further into the room by the time I’m able to compose myself enough to enter, kneeling by a bloodstained chair in the room. The chair has manacles fitted to both its ankles and its armrests, and a number of notches and cuts appear to have been made in it. 

“Holy shit, Chloe. We need to report this, right now.” Rachel says to me. I open my mouth to reply, but almost as soon as I do I feel a very gentle prick in the side of my neck, closely followed by a cold sensation as something is injected into my neck. I try and cry out, make a noise, anything to warn Rachel, but I’m powerless, barely able to stay on my feet. The room begins to blur a little, colours bleeding into one another, as I see a dark figure seize Rachel from behind, putting her in what looks like a chokehold.

“Chloe!- He-lp!” I hear Rachel cry out, every breath a struggle as she fights to try and break the attacker’s grip. I catch her eyes for but a moment, seeing fear in them for perhaps the first time since we started working together. Slowly, her frantic kicking and struggling slows, dying out altogether as she hangs limp in the crook of the figure’s elbow. The colours finally bleed over one another, and I feel my head drop onto the blood-soaked floor just before I lose consciousness.

* * *

“Chloe? Chloe!” I hear Rachel cry out as I slowly come to my senses again. “Please, tell me you’re okay!” 

I groan a little, opening my eyes. I see Rachel… strapped into the chair we came across in the room. My stomach turns again, and I fight the urge to be sick. “Rachel…”

Rachel smiles a little at me. “Good to see you’re in one piece.” 

I smile a little, before I hear a door open. I try to get to my feet, my limbs still a little uncoordinated from whatever I was injected with. A solid, hard kick connects with my chest, knocking my back onto the floor with a shout of pain. 

“Chloe!” I hear Rachel cry out, as I cough and wheeze, trying to get my breath back. My eyes are watering from the pain as my chest burns. I roll back to look at Rachel, seeing the blackish figure stood over Rachel again. She spits in their face, making them reel away. I grin at her, and see her grinning at her achievement. The figure picks up a bag from the floor, holding one end and in doing so unsheathing a machete, which is covered in dried blood. The smile drops from my face, as it does Rachel’s.

“No!” I weakly call out. “You’re not… gonna hurt her!” I stretch my right arm out across the floor, trying to get a decent base so that I can push myself off the floor. The figure stamps down hard on my hand and wrist, the lancing pain making me scream raggedly again. 

“No!” Rachel shouts. “Leave her the fuck alone, you creep!”

I feel a boot connect with the side of my head, and once more I’m thrown back into the black void.

* * *

My head spins a little as I come to again, the side of my head stinging from where I’ve been kicked. Rachel is still restrained to the chair in front of me, gashes in her now-bloodied jeans obvious to see. She has a couple of cuts down her face and chest too.

“R-Rachel…” I whimper. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

Rachel looks at me, and I can tell that she’s fighting to hold back tears. “It’s okay, Chloe, it isn’t your fault. Just know that whatever happens, I-” She stops, swallowing a lump in her throat. "I love you, okay? Don't forget it."

My eyes sting as I feel the tears flowing. “Rachel, please…”

The door opens once more. Rachel’s expression turns as she stares down our attacker once again. “What the fuck do you want with us, you bastard?”

The figure hits her with a handgun, and I see her spit blood out as her head rolls to one side. She pulls her head straight once more, barely able to keep it in place after the attacks this fucker has levelled on her. They point the gun squarely at her head.

“You’re not going to get away with this, you know that, right? The police around here won’t stop until they run you down and make you fucking _hang_ for this.” Rachel warns him. I can’t see very well from this angle, but I see the mask the assailant was wearing drop to the floor. Rachel’s eyes go wide, and she pales in shock. The assailant clicks the hammer of the gun back into place, readying to take the shot. 

“No!” I howl, as I try to lunge upwards, in spite of my disorientated, battered state. Another kick connects with my body, sending me across the room. I hit my head on something, dazing me once more. The room begins to lose its colour as I feel a slight stickiness on the side of my head that took the hit. Within a matter of moments, everything fades into black once more, and Rachel’s pleading with the attacker sounds like it is from inside a fishbowl.

The last two things I hear, before that sense deserts me once again, is Rachel screaming, and a gunshot drowning out all else.

* * *

_11th April, 1985_

_Club Caligula_

_4.40 pm_

Chloe’s hand grasps her cup limply, her arm flat against the table as she finishes recounting every unspeakable event that led to her partner’s murder. Her eyes and cheeks are coated with tears, even in the dimmed and strobing lights I can see how red they are.

“So there you have it.” She tells me, voice broken by the weight of her convictions. “All that, and I couldn’t do a damn thing but lie there and let it happen.”

I don’t really know what to say for a few moments. Everything Chloe’s just told me is still kind-of sinking in, and the more I think about it the more I understand just _how_ she’s as fucked up as she is. I reach a hand out, gently locking fingers with her.

“Chloe, there’s nothing you could’ve done. You tried, but every time you did, you got taken out of the fight. Believe me, holding yourself to account for something like that is a good way to find yourself trying to deepthroat a handgun.”

Through her broken facade, she gives me another dark stare, the kind I’ve come to associate with her being angry. “What the fuck would you know about that, huh? Not like you’ll have ever had to go through anything like that.” She attacks, her voice coming out as a whine in light of her turmoil laid out moments ago.

I look away from her, trying to avoid letting anything slip right now. It most definitely is NOT something I want to suffer a meltdown over in a place like this, out in public with nowhere to get away from the world. “I know enough about it, Chloe. Trust me. Besides, I have something in mind.”

She looks at me, pensive, before I continue. “You’re not the only one who this bastard has taken from. That journalist, the one we found last night? She was a-” I hesitate again. Even though we’re in a gay club, I don’t want to out myself just yet, and especially not with the more serious things taking place. “-good friend of mine. A seriously good friend of mine.”

“So?” Chloe questions, still seemingly unaware of what I’m getting at. “What fucking difference does that make?”

The corner of my mouth turns up in a wry smile. “If you feel up to it, I think we should run this bastard down. Together. Whatever happens when we’re done happens- I’ll quit the Precinct, or the fucking Force if it makes you feel better- but until then, we work together. Between us, I don’t think there is anything that’s gonna stop us getting justice.”

Chloe rolls her eyes at me. “ _Justice._ You mean a twenty-to-life sentence at best, even if we get good evidence together.”

I shake my head. “No. Call me the straight-laced plebe all you like, but for what this motherfucker has done, there’s no way I for one wanna take my chances putting them on trial.”

Chloe’s hardened expression softens again, as she catches on to what I mean. “Are you cereal?”

I snort a laugh at her expression, before taking a breath and answering her. “Totally.”

A second later, Chloe’s expression turns dark again, as she stares at me with a look of analytical hatred. Wait, she’s not staring _at_ me like that, she’s staring _past_ me. But at what?. “Take a look behind you Max. Slowly, just in case they’re watching. See the two guys who just walked in?” She instructs me. I slowly crane my neck over the back of the seat, looking toward where she is from an upside-down perspective. 

“Yeah, I see them. What about them?”

“We need to stop them.”

I look at her, curiously. “Why, exactly? I don’t approve of their fashion sense, but it’s not like it’s illegal to wear a trench coat indoors."

Chloe scoffs. "Look again, newbie. See the bulges under their arms? They're seriously packing some heat."

I flip her off with one hand, but I take another peek. My heart picks up its pace as, just like Chloe said, I spot the somewhat distinct creases in their jackets, where their weapons are suspended.

"Shit, you're right Chloe." I murmur, as I bring my head back to the level. Chloe's vanished from her seat. Shit.

I look over once more toward the two assholes, and sure enough, Chloe's approaching one of them while the other isn't paying attention. I stumble to my feet and make my way toward the one she isn't dealing with. I'm about ten feet from the guy I'm handling when Chloe draws on the other, pressing her gun into his chest. His buddy sees what's happening and moves to pull his weapon out of his jacket. Chloe hasn't noticed yet, and if I don't do something, she's gonna be in the shit. Almost by instinct I draw my handgun from my waistband, bringing it to bear against the other guy.

“Police, freeze!” I yell out. He stops dead as soon as he hears me, and the place goes silent. I smile at Chloe, who’s released her quarry altogether and is staring at me as though I have a third arm.

“Seriously?” She asks me, almost incredulous.

I lower my gun for a moment. “What? It’s not like…” I curtail my sentence as I look around the room.

Holy.

Crap.

That’s a lot of guns pointing this way. “Oh.”

Chloe rolls her eyes, as a door slams open elsewhere. A dozen or so guys, dressed in what looks like an up-armored Roman outfits, flood out of another room, brandishing a variety of weapons. Spears. Clubs. Shotguns. Oh _shit_. They surround us, both the would-be robbers, and me and Chloe, before one steps forward. Before he speaks, I hear Chloe utter one word in my direction. “Idiot.” Okay, she has a point. This time.

“Drop your weapons, and put your arms behind your back. I will only ask once.” The guard who’s stepped forward demands. I can’t help but shake slightly as I bend down and place my gun on the floor, watching Chloe do the same. The two men who tried to rob this joint are more reluctant to do so, but are quickly encouraged when some of the spear-wielding guards jab at them. I place my arms behind my back, feeling one of the guards grasp hold of my arms and lock them in a box-tie behind my back. I take a look at Chloe as I hear fabric moving. The stare looks something between pissed off and mildly amused, somehow. A black hood is pulled over her head, before one is pulled over mine moments later.

* * *

The guards force-march us through the club, and I can vaguely hear the jeering and ridicule coming our way. It subsides, quietens after a while. After stumbling up a flight of stairs blindly, I’m finally pulled to a halt. The guard manhandling me kicks gently against the back of my knees, forcing them to buckle and forcing me onto them. The floor’s pretty hard, and cold, and not very comfortable. That’s about all I can tell of the room, given that I still have this cover on my head. 

“So, Alfonso, what the fuck am I being disturbed for this evening?” A woman, somewhere in front of us, asks. I _swear_ I know that voice!

“An attempted robbery, Madam Steph.” The guard- Alfonso, I’m guessing- replies. “Two men attempted to come in here to rob the club. These two,” he continues, shoving roughly against my shoulder- and I think I hear Chloe grunt irritably off to my side as the same is done to her- “are fucking cops. One of them decided to even shout it in the main area. It’s amazing they haven’t been shot.”

“Indeed.” The woman concurs. Wait a minute, Madam _Steph_ ? I feel my stomach do something weird as I ponder. _Steph_ as in Steph-Steph? Oh boy, this could get painful.

“What shall I do with them, Madam Steph?” Alfonso asks once more. 

“Well, I wanna see which ones we got first. Fucking cops, can’t keep their noses out of this place. That one first.”

I hear the cover roughly pulled from Chloe’s head. “Ow. couldn’t do that a little more roughly next time, could ya?” She snarkily shoots. A thwack from a guard’s palm changes her tune, to “Ow. Okay.”

“That’s enough, Alfonso.” Steph instructs him, before walking, her heels clicking on the hard surface. “Why is it that when _anything_ remotely interesting happens around here, you’re involved, Chloe? Been a while.” Steph chirps.

“I’unno, trouble seems to like following me.” Chloe replies, and I can just about picture the grin on her face. “Lemme guess, whips-and-chains is off the menu for us tonight?”

Steph cackles. “For you, probably not. This a new partner of yours?” She asks, presumably to do with me. 

“Yeah. Only just moved from another Precinct. She’s, uh, cool though. Don’t think you need to hurt her.” Chloe explains. Wait, did she just _defend_ me? That’s new.

“I’ll be the judge of that, Chloe.” Steph states, snapping her fingers as she walks back in front of me. The cover is pulled off of my head, and I squint to let my eyes adjust to the harsher light in here. The white light slowly dims down, and I make out the details of the woman stood before me. Thigh-length stilleto boots, sheer and black; a tight, kind of corset-unitard thing around and nothing else on her upper half; shiny black leggings that leave almost none of her form to the imagination. My stomach does a somersault as I recognise the face, seeing her eyes widen as she recognises me. Steph squeals a little, practically scooping me up by the armpits and pulling me tight, kissing me.

“Holy shit, look who it is! How long has it been, like, five years? Where’ve ya been, Maxie!” She coos, apparently overwhelmed to see me again.

I can feel my face getting a little hotter, and I can see the bewilderment on Chloe’s face at Steph’s reaction to seeing me again. “Um, yeah, something like that. Nice to see you too.” I mumble, smiling awkwardly at her.

“You can leave these two with me, Alfonso, they’re friends. I mean, did you not recognise Chloe at the very least? She’s a regular, if nothing else.” She chastises the guard, who kneels, bowing his head. 

“Apologies, Madam Steph. And to you, Miss Chloe, Miss Max.” He says, before standing once more. “What shall we do with the two men who tried to commit the robbery, Madam Steph?”

I glance at Steph, seeing that always-worrying, devious smirk on her face. “Put ‘em in the cages.”

The guard grins back. “Very good, Madam Steph.” He acknowledges, before taking the remaining guards, and the two hapless- and now _helpless_ \- thieves, and frog-marching them away. Steph loosens off the restraints on my arms, before helping Chloe to her feet and doing the same. 

“Er, Steph?” I ask. “What exactly are ‘The Cages’? Why don’t we just take them down to the station instead?”

Steph tries to contain another cackle, but can’t. “No. Besides you two- because you’re friends, obviously- this place is a strict no-Cop zone. Fuck, the last time the police tried to come and deal with anything here, we almost had Stonewall Part Two on our hands.” She chuckles, as she leads us onward. The ominous quiet, bare concrete and white lights of the room the guards dropped us in vanishes as the doors open ahead of us, replaced by a plush carpet, velvet, and [ Billy Idol ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESIKf_wtLnM) blaring out of a set of speakers, while a window overlooks the main club areas. “Welcome to the Backroom.” She says to us. I gotta hand it to Steph, her taste in decor is _awesome_. The half-circle couch in the middle looks comfy as hell, 

“You didn’t answer my question. Also, nice music. Never had you as a Billy Idol fan.” I ask, and state. Steph shrugs.

“What can I say, he’s an _Idol_ .” She grins, as I roll my eyes. I swear her puns get worse every time we meet. “As for the Cages… take a look down there.” Steph points out, gesturing down into the club. Sure enough, I see a pair of what look like zoo cages, now fully illuminated by a set of theatre spotlights. The guards seem to be forcing the two guys who tried robbing the joint to strip, at spear-point. I shudder, as I picture how the _rest_ of their evening is going to go. My guesses are a lot of booze, piss and whatever else people have to hand are going to be headed their way sometime soon.

“I’d argue that it’s a _lot_ more effective than a night in a normal jail cell.” Steph declares. “I’ve not had a _single_ re-offender, after they’ve been in the cages.”

I chuckle a little at that. “I can’t say I’m surprised. That makes the village stockades look pleasant.”

Steph grins again. I swear, when she bares her teeth it’s like being at the wrong end of a shark. “We tried that, actually. Too hard to keep ‘em clean, though, and wood really stinks after it’s been doused in so much… whatever got thrown at it.”

We turn around, to find Chloe sat on the couch, with what looks like another bottle of liquor. I dart over, trying to gently prise it from her hand. She yanks it back, emptying more down her throat. 

“Chloe…” Steph starts, slightly deflated. “This isn’t what I think it is, is it?”

Chloe nods, before drinking a little bit more. “Yeah.” The slurs out. Steph shakes her head.

“You know drinking isn’t going to help it, right?” Steph looks up at me, from Chloe. “This is over Rachel, isn’t it?”

I nod. “Her murderer seems to have reappeared. From what Chloe told me, before those assholes came in to ruin the fun in here, what he did to both of them was fucking horrible.”

Steph opens her mouth to say something, before Chloe groans. She turns her attention back to the thoroughly inebriated woman on the couch between us, arm across her stomach.

“How do you feel, Chloe? Like you’re gonna hurl?” Steph asks, bluntly. She shakes her head initially, before wincing and gripping her stomach tighter. Steph sighs, gesturing at something next to me. I look, realising there’s a bucket there. I pass her it, and she slots it under Chloe’s head, just in time for her to convulse and unceremoniously upchuck all of the alcohol she’s had in the last few hours. A couple more convulsions, and she lies back on the couch, groaning some more. She lazily swipes out with one hand, grabbing a hold of me, before collapsing onto my lap and lower body, curling up. I look at Steph, as Chloe falls asleep on me. Steph giggles, quietly. 

“I think she likes you.”

I roll my eyes again. “Yeah, yeah. Real funny, Steph.” Steph gives me a more pensive look.

“No, really. I think she likes you. I mean, the last time she brought a lady in here was back when she and Rachel first started getting close.”

If my stomach had been doing somersaults before, I think someone just started using it as the basketball for the Lakers. “Really?” I say, in a low tone as I try not to disturb Chloe- although in fairness, she looks to be completely out of it. “The way she’s been acting so far, she fucking hates my guts.”

Steph gives me a wry smirk. “That’s Chloe for you. Especially since what happened to Rachel. She _seriously_ guards her feelings, attacks anything and anyone. Hell, I’ve nearly ended up putting _her_ in the cage before. She’d probably enjoy it, masochist that she can be.” I blush furiously, embarrassed on Chloe’s behalf. “But again, given she’s brought you here of all the places in town, and stood up for you when my guys brought you in here, I really think she likes you. It’s just hard to say how long it’ll take her to open up to you about it.”

I glance down at Chloe, fast asleep, using my pelvis as the least-comfortable pillow within reach. I can’t help but feel the familiar fuzziness in my body as I think about what Steph just said. Chloe _likes_ me, like that? 

This is going to end badly for us both, and I know it. However, there’s little I can do about it but ride out the train-wreck, and hope for the best I suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is the first chapter in almost a year that I've written and reviewed on my own, and I'm going to apologise in advance if there are typos or glaring errors that I've missed. Life has been... complicated, as is. Remote exams, a fucking ~~plague that isn't being taken seriously~~ Pandemic, a home life that makes being stationed on the U.S. Naval Blockade of Cuba look like a peaceful place to be, and more besides. Yet somehow, I've managed to crank out a near eleven-
> 
> thousand

> 
> word chapter in a month. Note sure how, as I don't have a soul left to sell to achieve everything I have, and I am already in sanity debt. Welp.
> 
> The scene in the club Steph owns is one that Letters, if I remember correctly, had said would be “hard to write in a way that wouldn’t get Max and Chloe’s heads blown off by the club’s patrons.” or words to that effect. With any luck, I’ve done it justice and kept it somewhat realistic in terms of ‘not-quite-plot-armor-but-also-not-endangering-our-favourite-duo’. Took me a few mental redrafts before I got as far as that scene, though, while trying to figure out how to lead smoothly into the scene and so on.
> 
> Also yes, for some reason 80s Setting + Steph = Steph is some kinda BDSM-mistress/domme. Don't ask how that works- I've already had something of a friendly ribbing on Discord from some of the folks there (you know who you are, gits!)
> 
> I'm not even going to try to estimate my next chapter release as I need to rework a few of the basic 'plot' elements and re-string them a bit, not to mention that I'm either going to be working again soon- either at work itself or from home, I have no idea which yet- or involved in voluntary relief work. That, and a whirlwind of other stuff that is likely to happen in the meantime.  
> In a gif- if it works:
> 
> Alas, I shall see you all when I next drop a chapter. Until then, I bid you Adieu!
> 
> **UPDATE- 2 MAY 2020**
> 
> So, Clarx- who is a pretty good writer, I should add- has set up a Discord server for writers and readers in particular to get together, so they can discuss and enjoy the LiS fandom as a group.  
> It's in its infancy but given time I think I foresee a lot of good things. Link can be found below:
> 
> https://discord.gg/JXZz5Jw


	4. Trenched

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The events at Club Caligula have not gone unnoticed, and as ever a good deed doesn't go unpunished. The consequences reach further than either could have realised, and lead Chloe to be confronted with a situation that thrusts one of her worst experiences and most intense fears back into the forefront of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's occurred to me that almost every chapter of this story is going to bear a Trigger Warning. In the words of one Windsor Davies,
> 
> I will try and actually get my arse into gear on this as I know I have been a lot more variable than planned and that my works have been nowhere near my planned release schedule. That will sort itself soon.
> 
> Enjoy. And yes, I am a massive dick sometimes with regards to plot. Sorry, but to make a good story you have to occasionally break a character. Or something like that.
> 
> **  
> Recommended Music:  
> **
> 
> Final Scene- [O.M.D- Electricity](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y43XLVqjytQ)
> 
> **TRIGGER WARNING/S: VIOLENT ABUSE, HOMOPHOBIA, POSSIBLE PHOBIA TRIGGERS**

_ 14th April, 1985 _

_ Chloe's Apartment _

_ 8.30 am _

I stir with a groan on the sofa once more, and can already smell the coffee brewing on the stove. Rolling my head back, I can see Chloe's already wide awake, nodding her head slightly to whatever the [ song on the radio is](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_ABjFQoTO34) . It sounds punk, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest given that it’s Chloe. Gotta say, as much as I never was  _ that _ fond of punk it’s starting to grow on me. Or is it that  _ she _ is starting to grow on me?

"Morning Chloe."

"Morning Max." She utters, smiling quickly as she gulps down some more coffee. "Sure you're comfortable on there?"

I blush as I sit upright, back to her as I slip on some clothes. I know  _ exactly _ what she's talking about, the cheeky asshole that she is.

* * *

_ 12th April, 1985 _

_ Chloe's Bedroom _

_ 7.00 am _

I flex my shoulders backward and groan as I awaken, still feeling a little groggy as the last of the alcohol clears my system. It was pretty kind of Steph to give Chloe and I a lift back, and to help me manhandle her to the bedroom. She  _ is  _ heavier than she looks, I have to admit. Or maybe I was more drunk than I thought. Either way, once Chloe was safely bedded I just didn’t have the energy to go back to the couch, so I stripped off and slept where I was. I roll my head over to where Chloe is lying. I hear a stifled yawn from her, as she stretches and rolls her shoulders. Her hand comes into contact with the side of my chest as she does so, and she jumps, flicking round to face me. After she’s mentally assured herself that she knows where she is, she relaxes and sits back down. 

“Why are you in bed with me?” Chloe asks. I shrug.

“Too tired after helping Steph drag your heavy ass  _ to  _ bed. I was kinda hoping you wouldn’t mind, I guess.” I concede, trying to read Chloe’s face, or body language. Nothing offers itself up to me, though.

“Well, I wouldn’t have minded  _ that _ much… if I was still clothed. Sure you just brought me to bed?” Chloe asks again, raising an eyebrow and smirking at me. I feel my cheeks practically singeing the skin around them as I pull the bedsheet up.

“Yes?” I reply, although it sounds more uncertain than it should. “I mean, of course I just brought you to bed. What, do you think I’d try and take advantage of you while you were out cold and drunk as a skunk?” I add, slowly getting my mind back in gear. Chloe shrugs, and swings her legs out of bed. I’m sort-of sure she’s blushing a little but in this light it’s hard to tell.

“Now then, are you going to sit your bony ass there all morning, or are you just waiting for breakfast-in-bed?” Chloe asks, pulling on a set of jeans, but otherwise remaining undressed as she wanders out of the room toward the kitchen area.

With Chloe occupied making coffee, I take my first real look around her room. It's… different, but surprisingly close to what I expected to see. Posters for punk bands, most of which look to have been appropriated from the walls and boards to which they were pasted, adorn one wall. Some from here, some from England… all pretty decent taste, I must say. As for the state of the place, it would go far as a metaphor for Chloe. Scruffy and disorganised, with- I hope- clean clothes strewn about. Yet, there seems to be an order to it all the while. I can see a few things that hint at her past with Rachel and perhaps even before then. What looks to be a set of awards from college, mostly dated before her dad died. Figures.

There’s no point lying here and snooping on things, so I figure on getting up and seeing what her ideas are for the day.

* * *

“Um, yeah. It’s not that bad.” I say, trying to brush off the other morning. By Chloe’s grin, however, that isn’t happening. Fuuuuuck!

“Sure it is.” Chloe remarks, smirking again and gulping some more coffee down. It’s obviously hotter than she thought as she spits some of it back into the cup, coughing as her face reddens. I giggle a little at her.

“Helps if you swallow it, rather than spraying the counter.” I say, not really picking up on my own double-entendre until after I’ve said it. 

“That’s what she said.” Chloe says, wiggling her eyebrows. I groan, slapping a hand to my face as I do so.

“You are insufferable.” I tell her, as I scoop up a shirt and slide it down over my head. I can’t help but notice her eyes are on me the whole time, though. I think back over what else me and Steph talked about, mainly as she drove us back to Chloe’s place while one of her staff brought her truck. Especially with what Steph clarified, that Chloe’s  _ partner _ Rachel was more than just her partner in professional terms. She’s into women, that much is pretty clear now. Is she into me? Hard to say, and I have to admit I’m  _ slightly _ scared. Not of Chloe, not at all- if anything, I’m really starting to take to her. I cut that line of thought off sharply, as the reason for my fear swirls like a black mist in the back of my mind again. I flinch as I hear the flint of Chloe’s lighter striking again, while she nonchalantly lights another cigarette. I glance over at her, and she’s giving me another analysing stare. She knows something’s up, but thankfully for me she doesn’t press the matter. For now, that’s one box of secrets that I intend to keep firmly closed.

“Better get something inside ya, hippie.” She says instead. “Sadly, we have to go back to work.” 

I nod. “Sadly. Any idea what Wells will have us running around doing?”

Chloe shakes her head. “Not a fucking clue. Possibly looking into this ‘Bay Butcher’. I hope so, actually, especially if I can trust your word that we’re going to hunt this fucker down.”

I nod. “I was taught a lot of rules by my dad, before I decided to become a cop. Pretty near the top of that list is  _ ‘never make a promise if you can’t keep it.’ _ . Believe me, Chloe, I have every intention of being right by your side when we finally corner them.”

Chloe’s face takes on another hard-to-deduce expression. She’s not angry, that I am sure of. I’ve gotta admit, Chloe still puzzles me. Even with the advice Steph gave me, there are still parts of how she behaves, her feelings, her thoughts, that are impenetrable.

Heading over to the counter, I fasten my pants as I continue dressing. Chloe is still ogling me a little, so I decide to take my opportunity to get one over on her for her remark when I woke up.

“You lost something over here, Chloe?” I ask her, slyly.

“Maybe.” She says, smirking. A second later, the smile drops from her face as she covers it with her hands. “Ah, fuck you, Max!” She grumbles through her palms.

I laugh, picking up the sandwich she’s left made up for me and taking a swig of the still-warm coffee next to it. “Hey, I need  _ some _ opportunity to get you back for all the innuendos you get me with, don’t I?”

Chloe glowers at me. Again, not an  _ angry _ glower, but one that matches the next words out of her mouth. “Yeah, yeah… Shit, look at the time.” She says. I glance up, realising what she means. 

“Yeah, shit. I’ll eat in the truck.”

“Like hell you will!” Chloe commands.

I think the confused look she gets in return tells her what I’m going to say before the words leave my mouth. “What? With all the crap littering your ride already, it’s not like anyone will notice a few breadcrumbs.”

I stride out ahead of her, heading for the truck. Something sort-of soft hits the back of my head with a whack, knocking it forward on my shoulders and making me yelp in surprise. I spin around to find Chloe clutching her hand, grimacing. “Ow, your skull really is more dense than it looks!” She tells me, sarcastically. In return, she receives a sharp elbow in the stomach, keeling her over from the unexpected winding. I skip a couple of steps ahead of her before she can recover and get her payback, grinning like crazy.

* * *

“So, how do you and Steph know each other?” Chloe quizzes me, as we head through town. It’s pretty quiet out, on account of the weather having taken yet another turn. The rain beats down outside in dense sheets, a few drips leaking in through the busted door and window seals of the truck as we go. I’m glad not to be on parking duty on a day like this, for sure. “Pretty sure you two woulda moved in totally different circles, though if I know her well enough she’s probably your age.”

“We, uh, went to school together.” I try to brush off, knowing full well that Chloe won’t leave the question at that. She swears and honks the horn at someone who just pulled out in front of us, not bothering to check the road before he pulled out. Sadly, that isn’t enough of a distraction to keep her away from her original line of inquiry. She gives me another look out of the corner of her eye.

“Still. I know Steph well enough that I  _ know _ how she acts around people. Pretty sure she wouldn’t act like  _ that _ toward someone who loaned her an eraser every now and again.” She pauses, smirking more devilishly at me than before. “ _ Unless _ , of course, that wasn’t the  _ only _ kind of rubber you were sharing with her.” She remarks, tipping her head back a little and laughing loudly and obnoxiously. I groan, putting my palms over my eyes and shaking my head profusely.

“Oh my God, Chloe! Really?” I whine. “Fucking  _ really, _ out in the open like that?”

Chloe grins some more at me. “Oh yeah. What, you expected me  _ not  _ to make some kinda innuendo when it comes to figuring out how you and Steph know each other?”

“It depends. Honest question, what did you and Steph discuss while I was out of it?”

And there it is, the question I had a feeling might come up at some stage. “She… explained to me a few things about you and Rachel. I’m sorry, I had no idea.” I admit, turning away from her as I expect her walls to go up once more. In hindsight, little could've been further from the truth.

“Hey.” Chloe says, softly as she pulls the truck up for a moment. “I’m not mad about you knowing. To be honest, I kinda appreciate Steph doing that.” She chuckles to herself, a nervous chuckle by the sounds of it. “I was kinda dreading having to explain it to you because…” She looks quite uncomfortable, so I ask the only question I can think of that’d put her on edge.

“...Because you’re, I don’t know… scared of what I might think of you? For being in love with another woman?” 

Chloe’s eyes close for a moment, her hands grip the steering wheel tighter. Not a word in reply. Those responses are more than familiar to me, unfortunately.

“If you think I’m going to judge you because you’re into women, Chloe, think again. In fact, wanna know something?”

She opens her eyes, and her hands relax a little as she looks over at me. She’s doing a great job of hiding it, but a little intuition shows that she’s secretly relieved inside. “What kind of something?”

I pout, pensive. “Well, given you’ve been outed already, I figure I might as well be honest with you. You remember Christi, the reporter who was murdered? The one I said I was  _ good friends _ with?”

Chloe’s looking at me in a way that shows the penny hasn’t dropped yet. Hopefully, she's ready for the revelation that's about to land at her feet.

“I lied.” I remark, answering the rhetorical question after a moment. “She wasn’t just a  _ good friend _ ; she was my first girlfriend. I wasn’t comfortable telling you before now because, honestly, I was scared like you were. That’s why this whole  _ Bay Butcher _ shit is so fucking personal to me too. Is that okay?”

Again, judging by Chloe’s chest rising and falling I can almost tell that she’s still panicky. That’s not a sensation I imagined her to be capable of going through, but it's certainly understandable given the current situation; and the new facts at her feet. “Okay.” She answers, her shy and timid whisper a far cry from the bold tone and exuded confidence that I’ve come to expect from her. A few moments later, she clears her throat of an invisible blockage, remarking once more at the day ahead. “We’d best get to work, anyway. Wells will have our asses over a fucking barbeque at this rate.”

I rub the back of my head, already apprehensive of how that might go, in light of current events.. “Assuming he isn’t going to do that anyway, after everything that happened at Steph’s.”

Chloe sniggers as she sets us in motion again. “Chillax, Max. There’s not a chance in hell that drunk fucker will know we were  _ ever _ there.”

* * *

We head up the front stairs and into the Precinct, which once again is a damn sight quieter than normal even for a Sunday shift. Nate's waiting close by, strangely, and he looks concerned. By that seldom-seen look on his face, it's almost certain something's amiss.

"Why the hell didn't you answer your damn phone, Chloe?" He asks, irritably. "I've been trying you for, like, half an hour!"

I raise my arms out to the sides, as I counter. "Dude, we left my place more than half an hour ago! Besides,  _ what _ is so important that it couldn’t wait to be told in person?" I snap back at him.

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, before elaborating. "Whatever happened at that club you two were at, Caligula or what-the fuck-ever it's called… word got back to Wells. I just wanted to give you fair warning. However, fair warning took a flying leap seeing as you left home before my call."

“Chillax, Max." Max parrots, in an annoyingly-pitched impression of my voice. "There’s not a chance in hell that drunk fucker will know we were  _ ever _ there.”

My face tingles with heat, my hands shooting up to my cheeks in an effort to conceal the flushed complexion from Max. "Sh...shut up, while I try and think of a way of getting us out of this." I tell her, slightly unsettled by her apparent capacity to embarrass me at the most  _ inconvenient  _ of times.

Max shrugs, as she steps off toward the stairs, and almost certainly a gauntlet of chauvinistic abuse for us. "No point keeping God's Drunken Servant up there waiting, Chloe. Let's get this over with."

Again, she has a point. Following closely behind her up the staircase, my ears hit the tidal wave of wolf-whistles, slurs and catcalls at about the same time as hers, which after the hundredth time my ears have grown almost deaf to, the childish goading failing to have any real impact on me. Sure enough, like some pretentious high school principal, Wells is stood by his office door; arms crossed, and a hawkish stare fixated on the pair of us. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Eliot leering at us among the other cops, a more malicious look in his eyes than anyone else. Ten bucks says that dickwad moves in the right circles to find out what me and Max were up to, and another ten says that he dialled us in to Wells. 

On a sidenote, when did Monday decide to become every day of the week, including weekends and  _ particularly _ Sundays, for me?

* * *

Wells doesn’t say a word until we’re in his office, and the door is closed. The noise has died down a little outside, though I can still faintly hear the other officers talking shit about Max and I through the wall. Wells returns behind his desk, and slams his hands down on its surface. 

“Do  _ either _ of you understand the ramifications of what you’ve done?” He booms. “This Precinct already struggles with its image in this city, and  _ you two _ decide to go and announce yourselves in a disreputable establishment. What, if anything, have you to say for yourselves?” Looks like the drunk fuck’s cut himself shaving at some stage too, as there’s a slight mark along one side of his jawline. Idiot.

I narrow my eyes at him, all too aware of what he’s trying to get at, the prick. “Chief, we were off duty. Besides, what the fuck does it matter where we choose to go for a drink?”

“It  _ matters _ , Detective Price,” Wells answers, a snide emphasis placed on the word ‘Detective’, “because  _ you _ made a scene. I’ve already had the Commissioner on the telephone this morning over the incident.”

Knowing the Commissioner as I do, I know that's bullshit. First, that was likely a call to commend the officers involved, as is his custom; Second, for someone  _ older _ than Wells, he’s a hell of a lot less bigoted. “Yeah, and we prevented a fucking  _ crime _ . Is that not our  _ job _ , as officers of the  _ law _ ?” I snap in reply. 

“That’s quite enough, Detective Price.” Wells snarls, glaring at me.

“No.” I retort, almost laughing. “I’m not sure it is. You give us shit for doing our jobs, for where we choose to spend our downtime… somebody would think you just have a grudge, or an axe to grind.”

“Get out.” Wells says, bluntly. 

“I’m not finished yet!” I snap.

“Get. OUT.” Wells bellows. “Or I will fire you, here and now.”

The next witty statement catches in my throat, and I turn on my heel, trying to keep my eyes from watering. He’s never threatened to fire me before, so his change of tack is a sudden and abrupt shock. I storm out of the office, slamming the door behind me. The other officers looking, leering and giving me all kinds of shit are but a blur, their calls a hundred miles away, as I storm toward the locker room in the back. My mind and spirit crave something to get some of what’s going on out of my head, something to drown out the voices in my head and all around. The room is empty, thank fuck, as I head over to my locker. I get my hand on the grip when another slams across it, pinning it shut.

Ugh. I know  _ exactly _ who it is without looking, and I don’t hesitate to make my discontent known with the grouchy groan I make as I turn to face them. “What the  _ fuck _ do you want, Eliot?”

Eliot leers again. God, that fucking look on his face is truly despicable. It'd look a dozen times better if someone remodelled it, preferably with a brick or a freight train. “I hear you decided to go to that fucking queer bar again. And you took that new girl with ya.”

I snort at his attitude. “What the fuck is it to you, Eliot? We were off duty, and went for a few drinks. How is that any of your fucking business, much less something that you should go running to Wells about it like a kindergartener?”

Eliot leans in closer, unsettling me a little. “It’s  _ my business _ that you’re trying to corrupt another fine woman.”

I shove him away from me, resisting the urge to double over at a growing tightness in my stomach. “Corrupt my ass. Max didn’t have any objection about going for a drink.”

Eliot slams a hand into my shoulder, pinning me to the locker, ignoring what I've said. “You’re going to regret doing that, trying to push me around. Just like you’ll regret ditching me, you fucking skank.”

I narrow my eyes at him, seeing right through his mind-games as ever. “Oh wow, I’m so fucking terrified.” I sneer, an upturned nose pointed at him. “You’re just an over-zealous sack of dicks, as you always have been.”

A hand slams into my throat, knocking the wind out of me, and closes around it. I try and hit his arm, break his grip, but he tightens his fingers, all but cutting off my ability to breathe.

“Not so fucking smart now, are you?” Eliot gibes. “You know what, I’m amazed  _ this _ doesn’t turn you on, you disgusting dyke.” 

I cough drily, eyes watering as I try to cling to consciousness. “Eliot...get...off me!” I whimper, as my fists beat weakly on his arms again, a hopeless attempt to break his chokehold. My legs tremble as my heart races, trying to force some air around my body in vain. My sight begins to grey out, the lack of air slowly starving into submission one system after another of the vital oxygen needed to survive. If someone doesn't intervene, there's no knowing how far he'll take it. He's never done this before, making it all the more terrifying.

* * *

“So, Detective Caulfield…” Wells begins, as the door frame stops rattling. Chloe looked distraught on her way out of the room, which is most definitely a normal reaction to the threat of being fired for a near-trivial rebuttal in a dispute. This prick really does have a way with officer relations. “I’ve got a proposition for you. One I think you’ll be willing to accept.” He presents a piece of paper in front of me, clicking a ballpoint and leaving it on the desk beside it. “This is a testimony. If you agree to sign it, then I’ll have the evidence I need to finally be rid of Price. I’m sure I’ll be able to find you a partner to replace her easily enough.” He looks at me, almost sincerely. Of course, assuming the drunkard's face actually  _ had _ an expression that could pass as sincere. “I’m sure you’ll find the terms most amicable.”

Time feels like it’s stopped dead, as the blood in my veins runs cold. Not only is he asking me to sign off on a fabricated testimony, as though it’s my own words; but he’s trying to get me to help him have Chloe fired. What the fuck?

A hand rests on the paper in front of me, my decision made halfway through the crooked Chief's monologue. The testimony is slid back to Wells’ side, unsigned. “All due respect sir, but there is no way in  hell I’m testifying against my partner. I may only have been with her for a little over a week, but I’ve already seen how well she does her job.” I pause, observing the dumbfounded and somehow angry look in Wells’ eyes. “Like you said, when you paired me with her. She’s unconventional, by  _ God  _ she’s unconventional, but she gets results.”

“But-”

“I wasn’t finished, Sir.” My next defence of Chloe begins, quashing whatever he had to say on the matter. “If anything, I’d sooner turn in my badge than sign a falsified testimony. In case you forgot, by the way, falsifying evidence is a serious crime; if something like that ever got back to IAD or the powers beyond them, you’d be lucky to just get fired. Anything else?”

“No. Dismissed, Detective.” Wells responds, deflated. With that, I turn on my heel and leave. Chloe’s nowhere to be seen, but at least Nathan is nearby. He’s got his feet up on the desk, flicking through the pages of some porno or another. Real classy, dude.

“Hey Nathan.” My voice carries above the murmur of activity, getting his attention briefly. “Did you see where Chloe went?”

Nathan barely looks up from his magazine. “Locker room.” He drops the magazine down further, brow furrowing. “Strange, I think Eliot followed her in there. That prick needs to learn to leave her be.”

Having heard a little of what he acts like, that sounds like bad news for Chloe. Being in a secluded room, alone with an abusive piece of shit like Eliot. I don't like it one bit. “Thanks for the heads-up. Enjoy your… your magazine.” I smirk, seeing him flush a little as he flicks the magazine back up in front of his face. I enter the dingy, stale-smelling locker room, and almost call out for Chloe before hearing someone being choked. The pulse flickers in my neck and ears, a faint thrum above which I hear a guy’s voice- Eliot’s voice- echo through the chamber.

“That’s right. You deserve everything you get, bitch. Bet you’re never going to fucking try making another officer a dyke again, maybe because I might put you in a box here and now.”

I can’t bear to listen any more without acting. I enter, and barely avoid crying out as I see what Eliot’s doing. He’s got his hand around Chloe’s throat, and Chloe- who looks to be on the verge of passing out, her face starting to turn a tinge of pale blue- is trying feverishly to break Eliot’s grip. She’s got no chance, however, and if I don’t intervene he’s probably going to choke her out. Maybe even kill her.

I storm over, locking my fingers into his and snapping his hand away from Chloe’s throat. I hear a slight crack from his fingers, and he shouts in pain before staring me down. “You!” He snaps, grabbing for my throat. His hands briefly lock around my neck as he makes an enraged assault. Big mistake. I grab his right elbow with my left hand, his wrist with my left hand, and wrench his arms off of me, taking him by surprise and sending him off balance. By the time he’s recovered, I’m within reach of him. I grab him by the shirt collar and slam his head against the lockers, stunning him. Thanks for teaching me that, Dad. I take him by the loose front of his bloody shirt, crushing him down against the bench running beneath the lockers. His eyes, moments earlier filled with rage and confidence, are filled with disbelief and fear. Good.

“If I hear of you laying a hand on Chloe again, harassing her, or even  _ looking _ in her general direction  _ EVER AGAIN _ ,” I warn him, “then I will tear your fucking balls off and feed you them. Now get the  _ FUCK _ out of my sight.” I throw him to one side, and watch him scuttle away like the rodent he is. As soon as he’s gone, I dart to Chloe’s side. She’s fallen onto the floor, but she seems to be breathing. Gently, I sit her up, seeing her watering eyes lazily moving around. 

“Chloe!” I yelp, as I take hold of her, helping her stay upright and gently tilting her head back so she can breathe more easily. She coughs softly, and gasps a wheezing breath as she tries to replace the air she’s been deprived of for however-long that sack of shit had a hold of her. “Please, say something if you can. Are you okay?”

Chloe nods, coughing again as her normal complexion slowly returns. “Thank you.” She rasps, still wheezing and coughing.

“What the fuck did he want with you, anyway?” I ask. I can’t imagine a dickhead like Eliot could just want to strangle her for the fun of it.

“He… he tried accusing me of… trying to make you- a dyke.” Chloe explains. I can’t help but laugh. 

“Fucking seriously?” I ask her. She opens her mouth to answer, but is cut off by Wells’ booming voice echoing through the upper floor of the Precinct.

“PRICE! CAULFIELD! GET YOUR GODDAMNED ASSES IN HERE!

Chloe looks at me, concerned. “We’re fucked now.” She rasps again, now able to formulate a full sentence.

* * *

Wells stares us down as Eliot sits to one side of him. “So, Detective Caulfield, care to explain  _ why _ you chose to assault another officer of this Precinct?” Wells barks, seemingly oblivious to the marks on Chloe’s neck left by Eliot’s hand. I gesture at them as I defend Chloe.

“Sir, I entered the locker room to find Detective Price being  _ strangled _ by Sergeant Hampden. I’m not sure what more needs to be said, other than that I used what I saw to be reasonable force to end his assault of her as quickly as possible.”

“That’s not what Sergeant Hampden recalls.” Wells counters. The writing is on the wall as far as I’m concerned; it stands to reason that a police chief who’ll happily drink on the job and attempt to make an officer falsify evidence to satisfy a personal grudge would  _ also  _ side with the sack of shit abuser that sits on his side of the desk. Wells continues his show-trial grilling of us, regardless of what I think of him. "His version of events paints  _ you _ as the aggressor, violently attacking him while he was discussing something with Detective Price."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes, and cut off Chloe's violent retort before it can form. "Sir, can you not see the marks around Detective Price's neck? Anyone with an inkling of understanding of forensics- which, I might add, is something I've made a point of learning on top of my basic training in the field as a Detective- could tell you that there's no way the finger-marks on her neck could be self-inflicted. I've secured convictions with less clear circumstantial evidence than that before now, for fuck's sake." I observe.

Wells stays silent for a moment. "On any other day, I'd consider suspending you both for disobedience and a lack of integrity." He knits his fingers together, propping the hands up by his elbows on the desk. "However, I'm going to give you a second chance, if only because it's your first transgression, Detective Caulfield. I don't want to see either of you in this building until Tuesday. Now get out."

What the fuck is up with this Precinct? Eliot gets away with trying to strangle Chloe, and we get thrown out of this place, accused of lying? What the fuck is that about?  _ Now _ the poor reputation of Precinct 14 makes a whole lot more sense. At least I landed one of the better officers as my new partner, anyway.

As we get up to leave, Wells calls one last thing after us. "And while you're at it, nobody has been to check on the Johnson Brothers site in a while. You might as well do that while you're away. Good day, Detectives." He orders, a sarcastic tone to his farewell. As we leave the office, Chloe groans and rolls her eyes.

"Great. Of course we'd get a shitty job when the weather's crap. Might as well go and get it over with."

I don't know  _ what _ this job is, but I'll take her word for it. In the meantime, I rewind and take stock of the look in her eyes as I dismantled Eliot. Gratitude, relief… something else. I'm sure I saw that look one or two times in Christi's eyes, back when we were dating.

I swallow quietly, as my throat seems to constrict. Is she… is she falling for me? More importantly, am  _ I  _ falling for  _ her? _ I close my eyes, grumbling to myself. Why is now, of all the time in the world, a good time to evaluate this?

* * *

"So, what did Wells want with you anyway?" I ponder, as we cruise through the City. The rain is still coming down hard, as though the man upstairs has a broken water main. Fuck, we're almost certain to need a shower after we've checked this fucking shit-pit. "I mean, after he threw me out and before…" my sentence tails off, as I try to keep a straight face. The mere thought of what Eliot was doing to me is enough to turn my stomach upside-down. What I would give to- no. I shouldn't stoop to his levels of violence. I'd be just as bad as him, otherwise.

Max hesitates for a moment, processing what I'm asking her. "Wells tried to get me to sign a falsified testimony, so he could fire you." She deadpans, turning her gaze out of the foggy window on her side. My heart stops dead in my chest. He's had her of all people sign me out of the Force. I try and keep the tears from building in my eyes as I think back on the plethora of poor decisions, stupid fucking mistakes, that I've made since I lost Rachel.

"Hey." Max says, softly. "I said  _ tried to _ ." She chuckles, darkly. "He managed to give you the one partner who has the integrity to not falsify shit. He wasn't happy, that's certain. No sir, he was  _ not _ a happy asshole." She continues, with a grin.

"So I'm... I'm not getting f-ired?" I probe further, trying to keep a steady tone as I do so. Max shakes her head, confidently.

"Like I said, Chloe. You're stuck with me until this murderer is in the Electric Chair, or a shallow grave. I've no fucking intention of getting you fired, if I can help it."

I let go of a breath that I hadn't realised I was holding in, and release my death-grip on the wheel. My pulse hammers through my neck, faster than I thought possible, as yet more memories decide to make themselves known. I screw my eyes shut at a red light, innocuously rattling my head to try and shove the memories back into their box. It doesn't do much to hold them at bay, though, as some seep through the cracks.

_ "Don't worry, Chloe. You'll always have me." _

_ "I'm not going anywhere, girl. They'll have to kill me before they'll break us apart." _

_ "We're gonna get through this, Chloe. Toget-" _

A car horn behind us startles me, and in trying to rush away from the lights I stall out the truck. Cursing, I fumble with the keys and coax her back into life, barely getting across the stop line before the lights turn red again. Max giggles again, thankfully oblivious- or so it seems- to my new emotional breakdown.

"Oh, Mister Small-Dick back there must be pissed. All that chrome on his jeep and nowhere to go. Nice one, Chloe."

I giggle along, more out of nerves than anything else. "He deserved it, though. Right?"

Max gives me an approving smile. "Definitely. Now, let's go and get this dirty work you speak of over with. How bad can it be?"

I shake my head. "Dude, you have no idea."

* * *

Ergh.

I peer out of the window at this derelict construction site. I mean, is this one  _ massive _ OSHA violation, or a mishmash of a dozen smaller OSHA violations?

"I think it's the latter." Chloe answers. My face flushes as I realise that  _ I just said that out loud. Fuck! _

"And that. You said that out loud too." Chloe adds, grinning at me. "Anything else your brain-filter wants to confide in me?"

I shake my head, and turn my attention back to the shitty, horrible, waterlogged site ahead. "Why the hell are we here, anyway? And why can't we just, you know, drive into this place instead of having to get covered in shit?"

Chloe shrugs. "City's paranoid that dodgy deals and shit go down here. Or, that the shit being sold might be getting cached here seeing as no firm wants to take this land over. And there is  _ no way _ I'm driving any further in. This area is full of trenches, maybe wide and deep enough to fit the truck in. Now, do you really fancy being in this thing, upside down and sinking into the shit in the bottom of one of those trenches? Of course, that assumes we can get anywhere in this shit-pit without the truck bogging down in this crap. Which, given the rain, is almost definitely not gonna happen. Or do you like the idea of having to get this heavy girl unstuck?" 

I shake my head. "When you put it like that, I agree. Let's get to it. I don't especially fancy trying to dig a truck out in this weather." 

Chloe starts to say something, but I've opened the door and hopped out into the deluge still coming down. My feet hit the ground with a muddy splash, and my boots sink a couple of inches into the sodden mud, covering over the toe section in a moment. I pull one foot free, gasping in surprise at how firmly rooted my feet are. The ground reluctantly gives up each foot with a disgusting, gurgling, sucking slurp. As I start to pay a little more attention, I notice the wretched stink of this place, a hanging blanket of foul odor over the area. Can't put a name to it, but it's horrible all the same.

"Wait a sec." Chloe says. "I'll lead." She steps out ahead of me, but I cut in front of her, turning to face her.

"Why? Surely we can get this done in half the time if we split up." I reason, walking backward as I go.

"No. This place is hella dangerous." Chloe replies. "I- I just wanna make sure you don't get hurt or anything."

I roll my eyes, still paying no attention to where I'm going. "Chloe, seriously. I'll be fi-" I take another backward step, but my foot, instead of hitting semi-solid ground once more, carries onward, and I shriek with surprise as I tumble into an excavation I hadn't seen, about seven feet deep. My feet hit its base with a splat, and I feel the cold wetness of the muck shooting up my legs as I sink waist-deep into the waterlogged mire at the bottom. I try to pick one of my legs up. No use, even as I strain and grunt, pulling and heaving, my leg remains virtually glued in place. The thick mud beneath the scummy water bubbles and slurps as I do so, releasing yet more disgusting smells and noises in doing so.

Chloe peers over the edge at me, chuckling, as I try in vain to free myself.

"Told ya I shoulda taken the lead."

"Fuck you, Chloe!" I shout back at her, a touch of venom in my voice as the cold bites in against my groin and lower body, uncomfortably. "Just gimme a hand out of here, would ya?!"

She shakes her head. "Nah. I'll pick you up on the way back. A little payback for cuffing me to my truck, huh?” Chloe grins at me. I raise my arms, scowling.

“Really? Fucking  _ really _ , Chloe?”

She flips me off, and walks off. I twist around, trying to see if there is anything that can help me get out of this mess. I notice a small rung-ladder, presumably part of the access that this would’ve had. I can only guess that this was an unfinished sewer of some kind, which explains why it’s  _ so fucking deep. _ I stretch out, trying to reach the nearest rung. It’s just out of my grasp as I relax and cross my arms, panting with the strain. Well, this is certainly a familiar predicament, albeit last time anything like this happened to me it wasn’t mud that I was stuck in; on the flipside, last time this happened to me it wasn’t  _ fucking hammering down with rain _ . Just wait until I get my hands on Chloe, though.

* * *

I feel a little bad about leaving Max down in that hole, but I’m sure she’ll see the funny side. Later, anyway. The rain splashes down on pools of water forming across this rolling, empty wasteland, and every couple of steps I find myself windmilling my arms, trying not to fall flat on my face as my feet either lose grip on the slick surface, or sink in and stick fast. I put my foot down again, and it sinks past my ankle. I try to pump my foot up, to break it loose, but it refuses to budge. I try again, grabbing the top of my boot as I do so. I pull with all my might, groaning and gritting my teeth, until the hidden bog releases my foot with a sucking gurgle, the thin, silty layer of water above bubbling as the mud probably fills back in on itself. I almost fall flat on my ass as my foot comes free, but I just about manage to hold it together. I bend over, resting my hands on my knees as I get my breath back. Jesus, this stuff is tough to get out of, something that I preferably won’t have to worry about; speaking of which, getting Max out of that half-built sewer is going to be a real bitch of a job. I continue trudging through the ceaseless rain and across the swampy site until I stop dead, barely before I step over the edge of a trench. I peer over the edge, turning my nose up as I see what’s down inside it. Sure enough, it’s probably deep enough for my truck to fit into, and the sides don’t look awfully well shored-up. The water in the bottom is a filthy, silty brown, and I can’t imagine the ground underneath is solid at all. I need to get across, but I don’t see any real crossing-point. In fact, all there is that could be useful are a few short pieces of duckboard, almost certainly not long enough to bridge the gap. Even then, they’re probably rotted through. 

I take a deep breath, and a few paces back. The gap’s maybe six or seven feet wide. Surely I can clear that. I look back along my path, toward the trench, breathing as deeply as I can to prepare myself. I set off at a sprint, as hard as I can run, and leap from the edge. 

The horrid realisation dawns on me as I leave solid ground that- in spite of being perhaps the fastest runner of anyone in the Precinct- I’m coming up short, no doubt because of how soft the ground underfoot is. I yelp in fear as my feet hit the ground with a splash and a slurp, coating my legs and the lower parts of my jacket in brown, silty water. A biting, wet cold spreads rapidly up from my boot-tops- though the cold spreads down into my toes as wet, slimy mud finds its way through the narrow gap between my shins and the leather- to my mid-thighs, and as I look down I realise to my chagrin that I was right. The ground in here, having been soaked for however-long, has turned into a thick, cloying quagmire. “Great.” I mutter to myself as I take stock of my predicament.

I try and prize my left leg free, seeing as it’s sunk a little less deeply into the mud. It takes even more effort than it did to free my boot earlier, coming away with another horrible gurgle from the waterlogged earth that promptly back-fills the hole. In doing so, my right leg has sunk almost to my hip. I stretch across, grunting and groaning, trying to use my free foot to press down and help me make some headway. Perhaps I can get close enough to one side of the trench to pull myself free. My foot, as soon as I try and put weight onto it, slips straight down into the mud once more, with more vile sucking and squelching. I wobble, trying to balance, freezing solid as I realise that every movement I make seems to be pulling me deeper into the bed of the trench. My stomach turns, a pair of unseen hands squeezing upon it, as I try and take a few deep breaths. 

_ It’s okay _ , I tell myself.  _ I can still get out of this.  _ With all the strength I can bring to bear, and my hands gripping the top of my thigh from behind, I heave as hard as I can in an attempt to get my right leg free. All I seem to achieve in the process of doing so is sinking myself further still, the ground swallowing me up to my waist, sending a shiver through me as the icy water soaks through my top. I stroke the matted hair out of my face, as I try and figure out what to do. Every breath seems to get progressively harder to take, shallower and quicker, with it my heart starts beating at an ever-quicker rate. 

I’m pretty much stuck here, and I’m all but out of ideas for how I can even free a leg, much less get out of the trench. All the while, my chest tightens slowly, imperceptibly, as the dark mist seeps from one of the boxes in the back of my mind. I guess I can wait for someone to find me and get me out of here. Max, maybe? No. She’s stuck down that hole still, I imagine. A security guard, possibly? I shake my head at my own stupidity, trying to ignore the chills running along my spine. Of course there are no security guards; if there were, we wouldn’t  _ be here  _ in the first place! My deepest breaths shudder as I try to remain calm; my heart fluttering as the images flicker in the back of my mind’s eye.

I glance to either side, twisting and tearing at my hips as I try to get some kind of purchase, in a vain hope that I might still have some ability to work myself free from the mess I’ve landed myself in. In either direction, the trench extends outward, probably a hundred or more feet in each direction. The odds of any passer-by seeing me down here are pretty slim, at best.

I swallow, as my mouth starts to dry up. My fingers and hands start to tingle, as the smell of the wet mud brings back a horrible recollection, one I’ve tried to do away with in my head and that is steadily pushing its way to the forefront once more. I keep my arms up and away from the ground, as my shallow breaths quicken further into short, useless panting. 

It’s okay, I tell myself. It could be worse. At least-

The splattering sound behind me cuts my reassuring thoughts in two, trampling them . I squirm round as far as I can manage and glance behind me, my blood running cold as I see the saturated earth begin to tumble away along a section of the trench. Oh no. Please, no! I start breathing harder and faster, trying to rid myself of the tightening knot in my chest, as I watch the earth gradually cascade into the pitfall I’ve trapped myself in, unable to do anything to stop it or escape.

I flick a glance in front of me. Here, too, the trench looks set to give way. I shriek and bring my forearms up to protect my head as it collapses, filling a portion of the trench in with more splattering. I retract my arms as the noise subsides, to find the mud both in front and behind my body now most of the way up my chest, and slowly but surely increasing as yet more mud falls from the unsupported banks. 

_ Buried up to my shoulders. Writhing, kicking, screaming as my broken bones jar and grate. _

No, this can't be happening again! I try to cry out for help, but the screams are squashed by an invisible hand around my throat before I can make them, constricting me to the point that I can barely breathe, let alone utter a quiet whisper or a shout. 

_ Earth, crushing down on me. Alone. Afraid. Trapped in darkness.  _

My stomach roils as a hot burning stings in the back of my throat. I writhe and twist again, trying frantically to escape as I hold my arms up out of the liquidised swamp. Every breath feels like it takes minutes, the only sensations that I can truly pick up being the clinging stench of the mud around me and the numbing cold in most of my body.

I can barely move an inch as I flick and writhe, trying to make some kind of hole from which I can break the unrelenting suction against my legs. It proves futile; any time that I do manage to make a brief gap between my body and the cold muck, they are filled in almost immediately by more stinking, cold, unyielding sludge. My jaw starts to chatter as my terrified shivers spiral out of control, my entrapment dragging me back into my own worst nightmare. By now, I’ve sunk down so far that there is a couple of inches between what was the bed of the trench, now elevated by the collapse, and the base of my neck. Every part of my body tingles with a mixture of cold and terror. I tip my head back, trying desperately to calm myself as teardrops roll down my face, mixing with the raindrops. I can’t break free, no matter what I try, and every movement I make just seems to make things worse. 

Without thinking, I try one last-ditch attempt to get free, pushing my splayed hands down on the earth around me. I don’t know why I thought that it would have any hope of succeeding, and predictably- to a rational onlooker- my hands immediately plunge through into the cold, cloying crap that almost completely envelops me. I gasp, and try to pull an arm free. It won’t budge. I wriggle and jolt again, trying to pull the opposite arm up. Nothing. My arms are completely stuck, and about all I can manage to do is flex my fingers and roll my wrists a little, submerged entirely at my sides. I frantically pull and jerk at my arms some more, whining and whimpering, willing them to lift free from where they have sunk through into the slop, but again every effort I make fails entirely, my arms remaining mired, immobilised. The stench of earth is overpowering and unbearable, as I glance wildly around at my situation, my head being about the only body part that can still move freely. The mud is halfway up my shoulders, and now even with all the strength I can call upon I can’t even twist or turn in place, much less move any of my trapped limbs.

I let myself fall limp, as I start to whimper uncontrollably. My chest, beneath the muck, expands and contracts rapidly, hemmed in on all sides by a soft, frigid pressure. The drumming splatters of rain on the churned mud become a distant nothingness, time seems to skip and stutter around me. I never figured this was how I’d go, drowning or freezing to death, almost like what happened all those years ago. I screw my eyes shut, and await whichever end I’m going to find.

* * *

I’m going to kill that infernal woman when I get my hands on her. 

Shakily, having forced myself close enough to grab the ladder through sheer will and bloody-mindedness, I’ve managed to pull myself free from the mud that would otherwise have effectively trapped me. I reach the top of the ladder at last, back out into the full brunt of the downpour. I turn around and flop onto the ground, ass first. I don’t really care about getting any dirtier, and I seriously need a chance to get my breath back. I barely notice the cold as my ass slowly gets soaked through from the standing water, more interested in sucking down the air I need to get the fuzzy burning sensation out of my arms and legs. Once the sensations subside, I get myself back on my feet, rolling my joints so I don’t start to stiffen up. Now, where the fuck has she gotten to, so I can kick her ass from here to Toronto?

Her truck’s right where she left it, so she hasn’t just left without me, but beyond that there isn’t any sign of her. Strange. I glance out further across the site, but still there’s not an obvious trace of the irritating, cocky, blue-haired headcase whom I’m partnered with. There are, however, a few faint outlines of footprints, and skidmarks where she’s presumably lost her footing as she’s moved. I follow her faint trail, barely staying on my feet as they slip out from under me every so often. After what feels like an hour of walking, I reach an eroded lip of a trench, and gasp. Chloe’s in the bottom of the trench, more or less neck-deep in the thick slurry of mud and clay that makes up its bed. 

“Chloe!” I cry out. “You okay, dude?”

She turns her head a little, but it seems she’s stuck pretty tight, unable to turn to face me. Not a word leaves her lips, save for incoherent snivelling between short, shallow breaths. I gingerly step down, reassuring her all the while. “Okay Chloe, just try and take some deep breaths. I’ll have you out in a- woah, shit!” I cry out, as my feet sink straight down into the soft, wet spoil where the trench has collapsed, the plunge slowing and stopping as I sink to my thighs. I hold still, feeling for any further descent. Thankfully, it seems that so long as I’m careful and avoid any sudden movement, I should be able to avoid getting into quite as bad a state as Chloe. I glance up and behind me, seeing a length of duckboard that might just be within reach. “Hang on, Chloe. I’m a little stuck myself right now, but I’ll get you out of there. Don’t worry.” I reach up with my left hand, fingertips brushing the underside of the board. It’s tantalisingly close, but just out of my reach. Reaching from where I am isn’t going to work though, and trying to lunge upward for the board is just going to make me sink deeper. That’s no good to me nor Chloe, if I get myself helplessly stuck too.

I scour the muck at my legs, seeing if I can find anything at all. “Aha!” I cry out aloud, as I spy just something that might work. A thin rock, a few inches long. I might just be able to use that to help coax that board a little nearer. Taking it in my hand, I reach up again, lodging it into a small crack where part of the board has decayed away. Gently, I pull it back toward myself, in doing so drawing the board closer to me. It tips at last, and hits me on the head with a solid clunk as I try to catch it, its end splattering the mud into my face as it lands in the slop.

“Ow, shit!” I curse, clasping my hands to the already-forming hot and stinging lump under my hair. The impact area stings, but at least I’ve got something that’s probably strong enough to put my weight onto. I slide it down from where it’s balancing and push it out across the trench, so that it is close enough to Chloe that I can reach her once I work myself free again. I put my weight onto the board, wriggling and kicking my legs until I hear a slurping pop, feeling the resistance and suction against each leg in turn break down. Dragging myself onto the board, I crawl down its length, panting gently myself from the force I needed to break free, until I reach Chloe. Gingerly, I move off the board, kneeling to try and spread my weight better, so I can move it into a better position to work on freeing her. In doing so, I sink slightly into the earth again but it doesn’t bother me. Chloe’s eyes are screwed shut, her face a mess of tears and sodden hair as she appears to hyperventilate. I clasp my hands gently on the undersides of her jaw, her eyes snapping open in surprise as I tilt her head up toward mine.

“Chloe, just try and take some deep breaths for me.” I instruct her, as I press my nose to hers.. “You’re okay. Well, you’ve managed to get yourself in a pretty tight spot, but I think I can get you free. Just bear with me, okay?”

Chloe weakly nods her head. She looks overwhelmed to see me, far more so than I’d expect. I reach down into the sludge that she’s buried in, feeling for part of her left arm, or her hand. After a short while of rooting around, I clasp my hand around what feels like her bicep. Her face flinches a little at the surprise contact. Gently, methodically, I pull on it as I move my own arm back and forth to maintain a small gap in the mud. Her arm breaks loose with a soft pop, and I pull it onto the board that I’m kneeling on. I achieve the same with her right, as she wraps her fingers tightly over the board, a deathly grip. 

“Okay, I’m going to try and lift you out now. I’m not sure if this’ll work straight up, but we’ll find out. Tell me if I start pulling too hard, or it feels like anything’s going to get dislocated.”

I curl my arms under her armpits, and heave, trying to pull her up and out from where she’s become bogged down. After a few moments, I relax, panting. I’ve only managed to move her a couple of inches, which is lost as her form settles back into the mire. Chloe's eyes bulge again the moment she realises she’s sunk down again, her limbs above the line of the mud flicking and jerking wildly.

“Woah, Chloe, it’s okay!” I tell her, trying to keep her calm, and to stop her from digging herself deeper still into the cloying mud surrounding her. “To be honest, I wasn’t expecting that to work, but it was worth a go. Give me a sec while I find a rebar or something, I need something long enough to get down to your feet and try to break the suction. No way I can reach that far with my arms.”

I straighten up and look around. Hopefully, there’s something within reach. Behind me, I spot just what I need: a length of twisted rebar, maybe six feet long. I stretch from where I am to try and grab it, but it’s a ways out. I sigh, realising that I’m going to have to step off the board- and get myself stuck, again- in order to get close enough to grab it. I shoot Chloe a playfully irritated glare.

“I hope you get how much it sucks to need to get stuck in this  _ deliberately _ , instead of falling in by accident.” 

For the first time since I found her, she smiles at me a little, coughing gently and panting afterward. I take a step out, making sure it’s far enough to put me in range of the bar, while at the same time being close enough to haul myself back onto the board. I gasp as my legs plunge deeper into the mud, bending over and reaching out for the bar. A twist of the hips later, and I’ve secured it in one hand. God, I can see how Chloe got herself into such a mess. This whole bed seems to be one continuous, sucking bog that refuses to let anything escape without a mammoth effort. It takes me a lot more effort to get back to the board this time, but I manage at last, having to take a break every so often as I extract an immured leg and move it a little closer to safety. I lift the bar up as I kneel on the board again, holding it vertical in front of Chloe.

“Sorry if I catch you in the leg with this.”

With that, I force the bar down slowly into the soft mud in front of Chloe, feeling gently for any accidental hit against her trapped legs. With one hand, I reach behind her, grasping her, and with the other I retain a hold of the bar, and look at her from the angle that I’m at.

“I need you to grab hold of me, Chloe, and pull as hard as you can on my count. One, Two… Three.”

Her arm wraps over my back and pulls, as I heave and roll, twisting the rebar as hard as I can. With a slurping pop, the suction around her legs finally breaks, and I heave her most of the way out of the mud, on top of me. I relax, keeping hold of her, as I try to catch my breath, my heart hammering away in my chest. As I lie recovering, I feel her arms wrap around me, hugging me tightly. I glance down at her, her head resting against my stomach.

“You’re welcome for the pillow, by the way.” I slyly remark, as she lies panting steadily. My head flops back against the board again, and I close my eyes, pretty drained from the exertion.

It feels like it takes hours for us to make our way back to the side of the trench we came from, though how long it actually takes is beyond my ability to tell. Max tries her best to support me as we gingerly move up the board, before she frowns.

“We’re gonna need to get off the board for a second, so we can move it a bit closer to the wall. Just stay calm, and  _ don’t move _ . Otherwise, you’ll sink in deep again, and I’m not sure I have enough energy to free us both again. Okay?”

I nod, though in reality I’m still trying to rid myself of the burning in my throat and the horrible feeling of pins and needles in all of my body, not to mention the clamp-like crushing feeling in my chest. I try my best to ignore the feelings as they worsen again, my legs sinking up toward my thighs again. Max’s legs sink just as deep, as she holds one of my hands to comfort me, moving the board with the other. Letting go of me for a moment and pushing her weight onto the board, she levers herself up out of the mud again, before helping me onto it too. She glances at the wet, slippery slope of the collapsed wall in front of us.

**  
  
**

“I’ll climb up first, okay? Once I’m up on the top, reach for my hands and I’ll help lift you outta here.”

I nod again, weakly, unable to muster enough strength to speak, my effort almost entirely focused on breathing and not passing out. The stench of mud continues to overpower anything else, its cold, slick sheen blanketing my body. Another wave of acid roils in my stomach, making me quietly gag and retch as it ebbs and subsides. I watch Max try and fail a few times to scale the slope in front of me, losing her grip on her precarious handholds and falling back down. Some failures see her land on the edge of the board; others, she lands with a yelp and an unflattering splat into the sucking ooze at the foot of the wall, cursing and thrashing as she slowly wrenches herself back onto the board that has become our lifeline. At last, she claws her way to the top, and reaches down to me.

“Okay, Chloe. Whenever you’re ready.”

I stand up on the board, shakily. My legs tremble, threatening to give way at any moment. Shuffling forward, my hands clasp Max’s as tightly as they can. With what strength I have left, I pull up on her arms as hard as I can, feeling her pulling me upward just as hard. After a few heart-stopping sensations as my feet slip, and my hands begin to lose grip, I too finally escape the trench. Max lies panting again, catching her breath after yet another superhuman effort to rescue me. I collapse onto my hands and knees, too weak to stay standing as a wave of coughs and wheezes force their way through my lungs. Max grins at me, chuckling as her chest’s rising and falling slowly calms. “Well, I think that’s my exercise quota filled for the next month.” Through watery eyes, I look over my partner, my rescuer. She’s probably as filthy as me; soaked through, a thick brown layer of silt coating almost every part of her body up to her chest, and spatters of mud across her face and in her hair. All the same, she seems almost totally unfazed by the experience, like she’s done it a hundred times or more.

She rolls over, standing and picking me with a strong, steady arm wrapped around my hips. My feet touch the ground again, numb and unsteady, wholly unable to support weight. “It’s okay, I’ve got you.” Max tells me again, as we make the seemingly long walk back to where we started an eternity ago, slipping and sliding every few paces, falling flat every once in a while, Max chuckling and getting us both up each time. For someone her size, she’s incredibly strong, and completely relentless, not stopping until we’re safely at my battered truck once more. Max opens the passenger door as she gently pins me against the truck to keep me upright, and gently pushes me onto the seat. She scrambles gently past me, slams it behind her and slides into the driver’s seat. I groan as my stomach turns, my limbs still feeling incredibly heavy and powerless. Max wraps an arm around me as she starts the truck.

“If you need, Chloe, take a nap. Hopefully you’ll feel a little better after one.” She advises. It’s like she knows how I’m feeling,  _ what _ I’m feeling. I nod weakly again, leaning over and resting my head against her thigh as I hear her slot the gears into place, and feel the truck gently reverse back from where it was parked.

Above all else, one thought swirls in my head as I slip into a light, bothered sleep. Max has saved my life. Twice, in fact, in the space of a few hours. I shift uncomfortably again as yet more memories return, of the fallen angel who saved me once before. I sicken again, as I realise what my thoughts add up to.

* * *

I groan as I stir awake once more. My skin feels icky and uncomfortable; my opening eyes discovering that I’m still covered in a thick layer dried, caked, flaking mud across my skin, my mud-soaked clothes still sticking to my body. We’re in my apartment again, though, and there’s a thin blanket over me to keep me a little warmer. How did we get here?

“Glad to see you’re awake.” Max says, sat on the couch with me. It dawns on me that my head is resting on her lap, sending a strange feeling through my insides once more. Her face, arms and hands are still coated in dry mud, but she seems to have ditched her clothes, which doesn’t help the funny sensation in my lower body. “You’ve been out of it for a little while, not that I can blame ya. Want some hot chocolate?”

I nod, swallowing and noticing just how dry my throat actually is. Max gets up from the couch, walking over to the stove. My eyes follow her all the way, her modest undergarments being her only attire for now. “I woulda gotten a shower, but I figured I’d let you go first. You definitely could use one more than me, given how cold and shivery you’ve been while you were asleep.” That explains why the blanket is draped over me, neatly tucked under my arms.

I smile weakly, groaning in discomfort once more as I realise just how terrible I feel. Max slots the cup of hot chocolate into my hands, and I readily sip it, contentedly mewing as the warmth and sweetness of the beverage makes its way down my throat. My stomach starts feeling a little better as it sloshes into the empty cavity.

“Sugar will do you good, strange as it sounds.” Max notes. “My best guess is that you had some kinda panic attack while you were stuck in that shit-pit. I’m just glad I managed to get to you before it got any further out of control.” She stops, mentally cursing herself over something, quickly changing the subject. “Like I said, sugar should help get you back in control.”

“Thank you.” I say, quietly. My opinion of Max seems to change by the day; we’ve been working together for less than two weeks, and she’s gone from someone I’d happily knock out to being someone I-

My brain shorts out before it completes the statement. Where do I stand on Max, now? Good question. One that I am once again scared of the answer to; likewise, another question that I daren’t pose right now.

“How did you do it?”

Max looks at me, confused. Looking at her from this angle, up at her face via her chest, is kinda weird.

“Do what?”

“Getting yourself out of the hole you fell in. And, and managing to…” My throat seals up again as I start to remember pieces of what happened to me.

Max shrugs, gently stroking my hair subconsciously as she muses over the question. “I used to live out in the ass-end of nowhere, and worked on a farm when I wasn’t at school. Believe me, Chloe, I’m more than used to it. I lost count of how many fucking times I’d go for a walk as a teen and wind up ass-deep in a bog. The worst part is that usually, the ground looked like a path until just  _ after _ you put your weight on it. When you’ve had to deal with that as many times as I have, it just becomes an annoyance rather than a real danger.”

I shiver a little. “Sounds pretty gross.”

Max giggles. “I’m amazed. Chloe Price, grossed out by a little mud. Never had you down as the squeamish type.”

“I’m not squeamish, Max!” I whine, rolling my eyes. “I just ain’t fond of mud, and shit. And, uh, literal  _ shit _ , I guess.”

Max gently shimmies an arm under my thighs, scooping me up an inch or two from the couch, before stopping. “Need me to carry you to the bathroom, or do you think you can manage?”

I shrug. “I’ll try and walk, I guess.” My legs slowly sweep down to the floor, rotating myself so that I’m upright. A couple of breaths to focus, and I take to my feet again. As I stand, I disturb the dried gunk on my jacket, gagging as its vile stench slams into my nostrils.

“Ergh!” I cry. “Max, you really are too polite sometimes. How the hell could you bear this? I fucking stink of shit!”

Max giggles a little, blushing. “I’ve smelled a lot worse before. It doesn’t bother me in the slightest.”

I stare at her, perplexed; she answers my next question before I ask it. “Remember how I said I used to work on a farm when I wasn’t at school?”

I nod, acknowledging, as Max continues her story. “Well, whichever  _ genius _ built that farm decided that it was a smart idea to make one of the pits dug into the land; with a narrow, not-very-steady board to walk over it.” 

“Pits?” I ask. “The fuck’s a pit?”

Max gives me a blank stare. “It was a  _ pit _ on a  _ farm _ , Chloe. Use your brain.”

Exactly  _ what _ that pit was for makes sense, as the dots align. I get a horrible feeling in my stomach as Max continues. “Anyway, I was working one day and was using the broadway as a shortcut. It had been raining for a few days, and I forgot that the board used to get really slimy and slippery when it was wet. So, I, uh, lost my footing and slipped. Straight off the damn board, too.”

The disgust written onto my mud-marked face must tell Max what I’m about to say. “You don’t seriously mean…”

“Oh yes. I mean exactly that. Express elevator to Shitsville, going straight  _ down _ .” Max clarifies, miming a figure with her fingers, whistling as it falls, and making a horrible ‘splat’ noise for good effect. “I’m lucky I guess; the pit wasn’t full, or I might’ve ended up drowning. Or would it be suffocating?” Max’s locks of hair flutter as she shakes her head, disregarding her pondering. “Instead, I ended up stuck up to here.” She continues, drawing a line an inch or so above her shoulder with one arm.

I wince, doubling in the middle at the disgusting image. “Eww!” I squeal, the very thought of the revolting situation making my skin crawl. “I thought being neck-deep in shit was just a figure of speech.”

Max giggles giddily at the remark. There’s something about her laugh, seeing her amused that sends all my insides into a frenzy. That sensation of buzzing and warmth in itself makes me uneasy, as I remember all too well the last time such a sensation was caused by a lady. 

“So did I, Chloe.” Max answers, taking a breath as the fit of laughter winds down. “Worse still, nobody was around at the time. After about half an hour of screaming for help, I realised I’d have to get myself out. It took me a good couple of hours to struggle and squirm close enough to reach the access ladder built into one side of the pit. It was only about eight feet away, but that stuff was like  _ tar _ to try and move through.” She furrows her brow, smiling as she thinks. “Pretty sure I burned those clothes in the end, the stink of shit never did wash out of them.”

I shake my head, smiling to try and conceal the brewing storm as the two halves of my heart collide and conflict, my mind weighing in on the battle just for good measure. “You really are something unusual, Caulfield. Remind me not to let you borrow my clothes when you visit family, too.” I quip, with a smirk. Max glowers at me, a playful grin on her face. “Now, excuse me while I get a shower.” 

I make my way over to the bathroom via the kitchen counter, where I deposit the half-finished drink that’s put some energy back into me. Once my feet hit the smooth laminate of the bathroom, I gingerly start peeling off my clothes: jacket, vest, belt, boots, jeans. Everything is coated in a thick layer of fetid, stinking, dried mud, each movement cracking its surface and releasing yet more of the nauseating reek. God only knows if it’ll wash out, or whether my clothes will meet the fate which Max so eloquently described of hers once over. I reach behind my back and begin to unclip my saturated bra, which already has been rubbing uncomfortably on my skin since I woke up.

“Strange place to hide a knife, Chloe.” Max calls out. The bathroom door is open behind me, and in my haste to get out of these stinking, soiled clothes- and to get away from Max to confront the feelings that her presence have started to create on a regular basis- it never occurred to me to close it. “Shit!” I squeak, spinning around on my heel to face her, blushing and covering my chest. Max’s face looks equally as red as mine feels, hot enough to turn water to steam. “Uh, that holster on your back. Isn’t that a bit of a strange place to hide a knife?” She asks, stumbling over her words. Her eyes subtly glance up and down my body. It’s strange, but I don’t feel uncomfortable at all with Max’s gentle gaze softly scanning across my declad form. In fact, it feels- I shake the thought off, another sickening lurch as my heart skips a beat. “Also, nice knife at that. From here, judging by that handle, I’d have to guess it’s an old Army Ka-Bar. I’ve got something similar, but I usually keep it down in one side of my boot. More convenient, I think”

I smile at her. “Nobody would think to check for a knife there, unlike having it in a boot. It’s just about in reach when I stretch an arm up, and I’m used to it being there now so it doesn’t make me move awkwardly or suspiciously. Good spot though. Perv.” I cheekily close, grinning. Inside, however, any semblance of normalcy in my heart and mind vanishing. I kick the door shut, still grinning at the flustered brunette struggling for words or a counter to what I’ve said. The moment the door clicks shut, the smile vanishes, my hands groping for the edge of the faucet to support myself. Deep, shaky breaths fight to replace the air being used as my heart thunders at what feels like a thousand miles an hour.

This can’t be happening. It can’t! Yet, it is. As hard as I’m trying to avoid it, I can feel it inside of me. I think I’m… I’m...

I shake my head, tears stinging the edges of my eyes as I cough softly. I am. I’m falling in love with my partner, just like I did Rachel. Another woman, watching my back, saving my life… 

I’m screwed. I’m totally screwed, and I don’t know how long I can go before Max realises how fucking  _ hard _ I’m falling for her right now. What if I can’t protect her, like with Rachel.

I retch drily, the horror of Rachel’s cadaver shimmering in my mind’s eye once more. To go through that once more would be the death of me, and I know it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So… wild ride, huh? There is a reason for everything that happened there, especially Chloe’s panic attack and her predicament triggering it. We’ll see that next chapter, and the reasons why it happened. As for Max, in many ways in this story she has her own dark and horrible secrets. We’ll see those more clearly, dark and otherwise, as we progress throughout the story, beginning with the next chapter.
> 
> Again, We see here that all is not fine and dandy in the world of Bay City Police. This has been around since the earliest plot-draft that I came up with more or less, and the broken-ness of the Precinct is not yet fully revealed. Why, exactly? My lips are sealed. 
> 
> I felt that was the right thing to do, having the plot deviate away from the ‘A’ Plot- namely, the Bay Butcher- and explore a little more of Max and Chloe in this AU, shining light onto some of the details that have not fully been exposed.  
> A lot of how that came about is that it felt right for the character, such as Max- whose family we shall meet later- having been taught to defend herself; Chloe having a panic attack after getting trapped; and Wells being a total and utter Prick of the Month (or is that Eliot? Probably both). Not to worry, the next chapter or two will see us slowly intertwine the two seemingly parallel plot strands. It’s going to be a blast. 
> 
> I owe quite a few people thanks for doing bits of beta-work on the chapter. From giving me advice on how to write a character having a panic attack (I don’t know if I have them or not, and my ability to properly judge my own feelings and sensations is lacking at best), to helping me rewrite things and cut down the use of ‘I...’, they made things a dozen times better. 
> 
> Special shout-out at that to Escherlat, who over the course of Friday and Saturday morning (GMT anyway, probably just Friday in Escherlat Time) went through the chapter, found most of the typos and suggested so many great improvements to make the chapter even better than the first few drafts. Thankoo, Eschi! ^_^
> 
> Clarx- who is another great writer for this fandom, and whom I would recommend checking out the work of- set up the Discord server where I got help from the various beta-readers a few months ago, and it’s a place for writers and readers alike to interact, collaborate and generally enjoy themselves. It’s called [Writers at the End of Time](http://discord.gg/JXZz5Jw), and can be easily joined with a single click on that name ;)
> 
> My next chapter may or may not take time to get written out, but it depends on how busy I get working at home. Hope you enjoyed, and see you around!


	5. Dark Shadows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I said last chapter that we'd take a look at why Chloe acted how she did, as well as further exploring her thoughts and feelings. We're also going to begin to develop the 'A' Plot from the end of this chapter/beginning of next chapter which should be fun.
> 
> It's nice that the guys on Clarx's Discord are kind enough to beta, as the last chapter wouldn't have been quite as good I think. They do have a way with taking the base idea or what is there and making it even better. Even if it is merely finding where my sleep-deprived, overloaded brain has written some form of total nonsense. In particular, thanks to Jibbypuff for beta-reading this chapter in particular. Some of his sentiments regarding the darker things going on indicate that what I've written does what it was written for.
> 
> Sorry for the delay in publishing this- I moved out of my family home of 15 years part-way through June. No internet, so I had to use a hotspot on my phone to write a chunk of this which kinda worked. I figured that the hardest part of moving would be the, you know, move. Apparently not, as on and off I’ve had to actively fight against my own emotions in an effort not to break down. Mixed success on that front. Still trying to get myself sorted out, fighting said emotions… Er, yeah, I’m probably also going to need therapy. As will the poor therapist who ends up assigned to me. (As an additional note to this, now a week or so into independent living, it's going pretty okay. Managing to feed myself, and not burn down the flat. Just gotta integrate work back in now D: )
> 
> Also, off the back of feedback I received from my beta guys, I have broken my usual pattern and left very visible trigger warnings (start and end respectively) in bold and with scene breaks a ways down. There is a scene detailing a flashback to historic abuse against one of our beloved heroines, and it is probably darker than anything I’ve yet written. 
> 
> Once you get that far, I’d suggest that if you are not comfortable reading such things- or if it’s a bit too close to home for you- that you skip over to the next scene. Plot-wise, you’ll pick up enough to understand what’s going on doing that and can avoid potential triggers. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
> 
> I've linked some music direct to text, rather than describing it being played as it technically isn't being played; however, there are a lot of scene breaks in this chapter, so it would be confusing for me to say something like "Scene 12". The music should fit the scenes well enough, hopefully.
> 
> **  
> TRIGGER WARNING: FLASHBACK TO ABUSE AND TRAUMATIC EVENTS. I’m really not kidding this time.  
> **

_21st April, 1985_

_Chloe's Apartment_

_7.45 am_

It's been about a week since everything that happened at the construction site. Whether Chloe's realised it or not, her behaviour toward me has become more and more unusual. Not in a bad, or even an unpleasant way. It's just a little unexpected compared to how she behaved about two weeks ago.

For a start, there was the laundromat, after we'd both taken a shower to mostly rid ourselves of the putrid stink of stagnant mud and water. I caught her staring at me at least a dozen times in the space of half an hour, biting her lip, a look in her eyes that I swear is lustful. Whether she knew she was biting her lip is another matter, granted, but that doesn't change the fact. Every time she realised I'd noticed, she jumped a little and immediately looked away, cheeks reddening. I even pulled her up on it once or twice, her flustered stammering giving me a good indication. Of course, she wasn't the only one doing any staring, but it seems I'm by far more subtle at it. Doesn't help much that Chloe's change of clothes was even _more_ flattering and tight than what she'd been wearing previously; her midriff even more exposed and her breasts even more accentuated under the tight black T-shirt; legs even more clearly outlined by some marked and worn black jeans, tighter still to her legs; her boots were easily cleaned up, although they still had light brown staining across them from their ordeal. She's been wearing similar clothes all week, and it's driving me _crazy._ She's even forgone wearing a bra, which can't possibly be comfortable. Chloe, as ever, acts innocent and makes out like she's not got any clean bras. Her underwear drawer says otherwise. I might add, some of the _garments_ she owns are seriously racy.

I suppose my choice of attire wasn't making things any easier for Chloe, given that the weather had changed yet again. A clammy humidity had begun to rise amid the overcast afternoon, making me sweat even more than the idle thoughts of my partner had. Not a great combination, when you're wearing a black bra under a thin, form-fitting grey top; a set of tights under the mid-thigh length denim shorts I'd picked out to try and stay somewhat cooler.

That wasn't quite the weirdest thing that happened, though. What was more unusual still was what happened as I pulled the blanket over myself that night, preparing to settle in for a desperately-needed sleep.

* * *

"Dude, there is no way I'm letting you sleep on the couch. It's, uh, not gonna do your back a lot of good." Chloe tells me, fumbling words as she goes. I look up at her, narrowed eyes from a tired and grouchy bundle of messy hair. 

"Uh huh. What do you propose I sleep on, then?" I ask her, lacing sarcasm over my words.

"I was, uhm, thinking you could… sleep in my bed. It's big enough, if that makes you feel any better." Chloe replies.

I give her another questioning gaze, one which she can't hold in return as it drops down and to one side. "It's not that I don't appreciate the idea, Chloe. It just seems kinda strange, suddenly wanting me to share the bed with ya." I raise an eyebrow, watching her flustered expression fidget and jump. " _Sure_ you haven't some ulterior motive?"

Chloe's words fall out of her mouth as she tries to come up with some semblance of logic. "I, uh… no! Why would I have an ulterior-"

I hop to my feet, grinning as I stand before her, dressed only in my undergarments. The gentle flushed tone in Chloe's face is something glorious to behold, trying to come up with some way to keep a straight and expressionless face. "You had me at 'share the bed'." I declare, grinning devilishly. "I just wanted to see how you'd act."

Chloe scowls at me, as I pivot and head for her room. "You sly, sneaky-!"

I stop, giving her a knowing look. "Let's be honest, it's nothing you wouldn't have done if the roles were reversed."

Somehow, her cheeks turn redder still. "Yeah. Probably." She mutters, as I lead into her room.

I wake up the next morning to find Chloe- who was lying on the opposite side of the bed when I closed my eyes- is spooning me, her warm body lying tight against my back. I can feel her warm breath against the back of my neck too, still dozing softly, quietly, peacefully.

I shift to move, freezing as I feel her arm in front of me. It's draped over me, the crook of her elbow against my ribs; her slender fingers between my body and the bed. As my shift disturbs her arm, she stirs, murmuring, before going back to sleep. 

Well, this is… I don't know. It doesn't feel awkward, not at all really. In fact, the gentle embrace of my partner, feeling her abs against my back with every breath she takes, her soft breasts pressing gently against my shoulder blades, is actually kinda cute. The funny feeling in my stomach is back in force.

_‘You're a disgusting waste of flesh!’ She hisses, as she slaps me across the face once more, her ring cutting my cheek._

I shake my head as violently as I dare, trying not to awaken Chloe as I force the dark, horrific voice of the past from my head. The feelings I have for her are unmistakable. I'm ninety-five, maybe ninety-six percent sure that I'm _seriously_ developing feelings for her. Not even just on the grounds of how _fucking hot_ she is, although that has to have been a major driver for me when I first met her. No, she really does seem to actually care about me. There's a strong possibility that's because of what happened to Rachel, but at any rate she cares about me. And if I'm honest with myself, I care about her, too. After what she’s been through, I can’t help but feel she deserves better than what’s been happening in her life so far.

The question is, when, if at all, is it going to be appropriate to talk to her about it? I mean, the most obvious elephant in the room is Rachel’s death; it hangs like a stormcloud over Chloe. To try and admit to her that I love her would almost certainly cause a conflict in her mind, between whatever feelings she has for me and the feelings she still has for Rachel. I don’t want to put her in a position where she feels she’s being unfaithful to her memory or something like that. It sounds even stranger when I think about it properly, but I don’t want Chloe to be uncomfortable around me because of what she knows about me.

* * *

A nudge distracts me from my recap of the last week. "Hey. Whatcha thinking about, Max?" Chloe asks me.

I roll my shoulders gently, groaning softly. "Nothing much, just the last week or so."

“What, menial jobs and being made to work a beat for a few days?” Chloe asks, smugly. 

“Uh, that too.” I say, briefly recalling _why_ we’d ended up in that position. Chloe, again, had infuriated Wells. Short of firing her outright- as the windbag had threatened to do- he forced us both to spend a few days working as standard beat-cops. Chloe, naturally, decided to bamboozle a jaywalker, and the look on his face was outright _hilarious._ Definitely not professional, I grant that much, but it was still funny as all hell and a much-needed break from the monotony of the task at hand. I get out of bed and head into the kitchen area, putting her kettle on the stove to make some coffee for us both. 

Chloe comes shuffling out of the bedroom a few moments later, still grinding her palms against her eye sockets. Her hair is a total mess, which looks super cute when it’s paired with her tired, grouchy morning face. Once again, it seems she’s trying to dress to tease the hell out of me. Even in her just-woken-up state, she seems to be shifting about a little uncomfortably, no doubt due to how tight some of those things are on her. I’m not gonna point that out, though, 

“Morning, Chloe.” I greet her, grinning.

“Mnning.” Chloe grunts, flopping onto a chair as I put the coffee in front of her. She sips at it, shuddering. “Jesus, Max. You need to learn to make a decent cup of coffee.”

I giggle, sitting next to her as I gulp my own cup down. “You look like you haven’t slept in a week. Figured a strong coffee would be good.”

Chloe rolls her eyes. “Hard to sleep when you murmur so much. And shifting about. You squirm like a baby kitten, you know that?”

I’m not sure whose cheeks are burning hotter, mine or Chloe’s. A mildly awkward silence descends, until Chloe mercifully shatters it.

“So, uh, I was thinking I could eat y- uh, we could eat out this morning.” Chloe says, biting her own tongue as her brain fries out. “I know a decent place for breakfast.”

I look at her, quizzingly. “Okay. So long as it isn’t a liquid breakfast, and so long as it doesn’t involve Steph’s guards cuffing us again.”

Chloe blushes- how that’s possible with her current complexion, I can’t say- and winces. “No. Not at all. I think you’ll like it.”

* * *

_8.15 am_

_Two Whales Diner_

Huh. Turns out me and Chloe do have similar tastes when it comes to eats. Chloe parks- somewhat haphazardly, which doesn’t surprise me in the slightest- and leads me inside, along to a booth. There’s a small jukebox, which looks like it’s from the sixties, which is just as I remember it being. Incidentally, [ that seems to be what’s being played right now ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=80_39eAx3z8) . I haven’t been in here for a while, and the elderly waitress’ face lights up as she spots me. She finishes up the order she’s preparing and comes straight over. In the meantime, Chloe changes the music over to something that is far more [ her kind of thing ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=krl-2hgFrJU), muttering curses all the while as the temperamental appliance resists her quarters and touch of the buttons. Predictably, a few complaints are muttered from the other patrons who, god forbid, have to bear the sound of a punk track shattering their reverie.

“Well, hello again Max.” Joyce greets me, that Southern tinge to her accent as clear as ever. “It’s been a while.”

I nod and smile. “Yep. Had a lot going on.”

I catch Chloe giving Joyce a dirty look out of the corner of my eye, and cut her off before she can say anything. “Chloe, the hell could you have against Joyce? Don’t pretend you’re not giving her the stink-eye there.”

Chloe looks at me as though I’ve got three heads. “What? Dude-”

Joyce sighs, exasperated. “Oh dear. I didn’t realise you’d moved precinct, Max.” She says, eyeing up Chloe.

“Don’t give me that look, mom!” Chloe snaps back at her.

Wait, what?! _Mom??_

Before the two can escalate their argument, I put my hands up, cutting the two off. “Wait a second, just _wait- a- second._ Joyce, Chloe’s your _daughter?_ ” I ask her, incredulous.

Joyce smiles at me, before looking back at Chloe. “Yes, Max. I hope you’re keeping her out of trouble. Not that she’s a stranger to it.”

“ _Mom! Seriously!”_ Chloe howls, covering her face. I can’t help but chuckle, seeing Chloe flustered and utterly embarrassed by Joyce. Chloe shoots me an annoyed glare through her hands. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Max!” 

And laugh it up, I will. Yes, this is _far_ too good an opportunity to pass up; _Priceless_ , one might even say. Ha ha.

“What shall I get you ladies? Your usuals?” Joyce interrupts. After a complete failure to reply from us both, she scribbles down something on her pad. “Your usuals. And, I suppose, I’ll leave you to it.” She says, heading for the kitchen. She comes back briefly, to give us a couple of cups of coffee to occupy us.

“So, it seems you and Joyce already know each other well.” Chloe grumbles again. I nod emphatically, leaning back in my seat, a wry smile on the edges of my lips.

“Yeah. I’ve been coming here since I was about sixteen. You’re right, by the way, Joyce cooks _awesome_ food. I see where you get it from now.”

Chloe grins, a pensive edge slowly seeping into it. “Say, what _has_ Joyce discussed with you? About me, I mean.”

I blush, and avert her gaze. “Uh… she used to talk about how her daughter was always so rebellious, causing shit with her stepdad.” My eyes meet hers. “The penny never dropped until about five minutes ago. Wowser.”

Chloe rolls her eyes again. “Yeah. That just about covers it. After my dad- you know- died, one of the cops he’d worked with ended up getting close to my mom. Some dickhead, er, Madsen, I think his name was.”

I raise my eyebrow. “Madsen. As in, Superintendent David Madsen?” Chloe’s midway through drinking down some more of the black, caffeinated liquid when I mention Dave. She spits her coffee back into the mug, coughing and spluttering, a fist pounding her breastbone.

“ _Superintendent_?!” She gasps as soon as she can breathe. “How the fuck is it that all the dickheads go places?!”

I clutch my stomach, laughing. “Honestly, he wasn’t so bad to work for. He was my first Chief, back at Fourth. He’s been on secondment for about a year now. Boston, I think. The Chief who replaced him was a real sack of shit, as you know.”

Chloe shakes her head. “Unbelievable. First, my mom’s outed all my shit to you; _now_ , I find out you were up my step-dickhead’s ass!”

I kick her shin under the table, her body jumping as she winces and swears, a hand reaching under to nurse the impact point. “Far from it, jerk. Actually, he was pretty honest about being a little overbearing and heavy-handed."

"Damn straight." Chloe mutters, as Joyce returns with our food. Belgian waffles for me, just how I like them; Chloe seems to have some kind of triple stack bacon sandwich. It looks awesome too, but that much fried bacon is way more than I can handle so early in the morning. It surprises me how quickly Chloe devours it, the helpless layers of bread and meat being decimated in minutes. She finishes before I do, even though my portion was a little smaller. She stretches back and mews, gently putting her forearms on the table as she relaxes. I’m not sure whether she’s unaware how cute she is when she does that, or whether she is completely aware and doing it deliberately to tease me. “So, uh, I have to admit that breakfast wasn’t the only reason I brought you here.” She says.

I raise an eyebrow, but Chloe continues before I can challenge her statement. "Main reason we're here rather than back at mine is that I find it easier to stay in control in public. You said something about me having a panic attack last week when-" she pauses, taking a deep breath. "When _that_ all happened. Right?"

I nod, cautiously. "Yeah. What about it?" 

Chloe grimaces. "I want to explain it. Why it happened. _How_ it happened."

"How… what happened?"

Chloe looks away again. She looks uncomfortable. Way more uncomfortable than I think I've seen her before. Her fists clench tightly, and I'm not sure she realises she's doing it at first. "What happened last week. It isn't the first time something like that's happened to me."

"I figured." I add. "Are you _sure_ you want to discuss it here? I mean, we could go somewhere quieter in case you freak out or…"

Chloe shakes her head. "No. I find it easier to stay calm when I know there are people nearby. This shit started happening to me after a bust went wrong. Have you ever heard of the Anderson Gang?" She asks.

I nod. "Cop-killers, right? They went around tooled up with all kinds of heavy gear, taking out any patrol they found. Got cornered and wiped out at the old Capston Brothers Mine. Some hell of a fight."

Chloe flinches at the mention of the place. "Y-yeah. I was there."

* * *

_June 19th, 1979_

_Outskirts of Bay City- Old Capston Brothers Mine_

_5.35 am_

Rachel and I pull into the clearing, dimly lit by the rising sun. Ahead of us, the area is full of rusting machinery, overgrown with weeds as nature attempts to retake the site since its dereliction. There are already a plethora of marked police vehicles here, in addition to more SWAT units than I think I’ve seen anywhere, ever. It figures that we need the additional firepower though; these assholes have already gunned down about half a dozen cops in the last three weeks. The majority of the guys are congregated around one of the cruisers, and even in this light I can make out the distinct form of the Chief. I smile at Rachel as I hop out of my side of the truck, Rachel following me out of my door. She gently takes a hold of one of my hands, able to see right through my expression.

“Relax, Chlo.” She assures me. “This is just gonna be like any other job. We go in there, hunt these bastards down and make them pay for what they’ve done.”

I grimace. “It’s not just that, Rach’.” I admit. “It’s that exam. The Detective’s exam. What if I fuck it up?”

Rachel giggles as we stride a little closer to where the plan for action is being drawn up. “Chloe, you could pass that exam hungover and half-asleep. Trust me, I should know.” 

I don’t know how she does it, but every time something worries me, Rachel always finds a way of making me feel that much better about it.

“Nice of you to join us, ladies.” Chief Ramirez muses as we close in. “I’ll give you the short run of things, as we’re going to kick in the door shortly.” The Chief points at part of a degraded and worn map he has sprawled out on the trunk of his cruiser. “Now, from what we’ve been able to figure out, the Anderson Gang is hiding out around here, in a cavern about fifty feet below. They’ve got food and other supplies to last for weeks, but we can’t afford to wait and starve them out. Not with the amount of pressure from the public. As you all know, these bastards have lived their last days as free men.”

A murmur of agreement ripples around the other officers. “The problem we have is that there only seems to be two ways into the cavern they’re holed up in. One of them we know is sturdy enough, but it leads face-first into them. They’ll no doubt expect us to roll up that way, so we’ll send our heavier equipment in. Shields, long rifles, heavy weapons. The other,” The Chief continues, “Is here. It’s older, but it seems that these fuckers don’t know it exists. If we can get a few officers through there. It runs about thirty feet beneath the main tunnel, so accessing it shouldn’t be too difficult. However… the logs state that this tunnel is unstable and that it got abandoned. The one above can _just about_ survive if these fuck-heads are stupid enough to start blowing anything up- the tunnel beneath will likely cave in if that happens.”

Ramirez looks at me. “I hate to break you and Lieutenant Amber up, Price, but I’m gonna need you to take that tunnel. You, and one of the SWAT Operators. I know your marksmanship is some of the best we’ve got, and I’m counting on that to give us the edge.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Are you _sure_ that’ll be enough, Chief? Two of us, sneaking up the back of a dozen assholes armed to the teeth and with no fucks to give? Sure, I might be a decent shot, but what if we’re wrong and they expect someone to hit them from behind?”

Ramirez nods. “It’s risky, I know, but given the situation it’s a risk we’re going to have to take. Make sure you’re wearing body armour. And leave the plates _in_ , for Christ’s sake.”

“Chief…” I whine, rolling my eyes. “You know the plates are uncomfortable as fuck.”

Ramirez gives me a blank stare. “Yeah, they’re uncomfortable. But would you rather be shot and bleed out in comfort, or be uncomfortable and stand a fool’s chance of surviving a bullet? Just make sure you’re wearing the damned things. Oh, and so you can actually hear what the fuck is going on, you're taking a helmet too.”

"But-"

"No buts, Chloe." Ramirez cuts me off. "Gear up, or stay topside. What do ya wanna do?" He asks me, picking up a spare set of armor and a helmet from the pile next to the cruiser.

“Fiiiine.” I groan, swiping the articles from Ramirez, who grins at my response. 

“Glad we’re in agreement.” He jibes. “Now, get ready and form up at the entrance. We’re moving on their position in ten.”

* * *

The rickety elevator rattles and jolts as it descends toward the older shaft, about thirty feet beneath the main tunnel that everyone else is preparing to move through, and eighty feet from the fresh, dry air of the surface. The chinstrap of this fucking big bulky helmet is driving me nuts. After a little more rubbing against my chin, I grumble and unclip it, allowing it to hang loose. The inner straps around my head are well enough adjusted, so it should stay on my head while moving. I’ll remember to refasten it before shit gets real. Probably.

“Price, come in, over.” Ramirez’s voice crackles in my headset, faintly. I’m going to leave it on until the last moment in case there’s a change of plan. I slot my gun into my waistband for a moment and click the small button on the side of the helmet to reactivate the mic.

“Roger, I’m here. What’s the trouble, over?”

The steel runners of the elevator squeal and grind as it halts at our floor. Beyond the dim bulb lighting the elevator cage, it is pitch black. A disconcerting groan resonates from the beams holding up the shaft. Forcing the thought of the tons of earth above us to the back of my mind, I step out of the cage and into the shaft. Bringing my maglite up to hip height, handgun-bearing hand over the top, I click it on, illuminating the fifty or so feet ahead of us with a yellowish glow. The oak beams overhead look seriously old, a few cracks webbing along its length. A few granules of dirt shower down ahead, the slats barely keeping back the ground above after God-only-knows how many years of neglect. The stink of tar, or whatever they used to use to seal the beams, permeates the air.

“We’re about a hundred feet from the start line. You’re going to need to pick up the pace once you get down to the shaft. Ramirez out.”

I look back at the SWAT guy with me, armed with a submachine gun of some kind, a shotgun on his back in case we end up getting in close. Even behind his goggles and mask, I can see the fear on his face.

“Let’s get our asses moving. I don’t wanna spend a second more down here than I need to.” I tell him, clicking the mic off and starting along the tunnel, handgun and maglite raised ready once more. I can hear his footsteps a little bit behind mine as we head deeper into the derelict tunnel. All the while, a dry, musty smell fills my nostrils. The air feels dry at every breath in. Every few moments, my toes catch on something, and were it not for my ability to regain my balance I’d have gotten a mouthful of dirt.

“Price, come in, over.” My radio crackles again. I ignore it for a moment, carrying on. “We’ve… contact! Get… moving…” I don't wait to be told twice. Not looking back, and hoping that the guy with me can keep up, I set off at a run down the long, empty tunnel, the light from my torch bouncing around in my hand. Every sweep casts wild shadows from the abandoned equipment and old supports throughout the tunnel, even more unnerving when coupled with the creaking and groaning of the wooden superstructure.

I break my run, catching some breath back. I don't remember the tunnel being this long on the maps. “How are ya holding up, dude?” I ask, turning to the SWAT dude and flashing the torch toward him. 

He’s gone. Flicking the torch back the way I came, there’s no trace of the man who was accompanying me. “Hey! Where the fuck did you go?" My voice echoes up the shaft, not a sound returning. Casting my mind back a few minutes, I do remember seeing a split-off from this shaft. Were we meant to go that way? Shit. I take the radio up again. “Ramirez, it’s Price. I’m on my own, the fucking tunnel must've split somewhere. I think I've gone the wrong way. Over.” 

I listen for a reply, but all that comes back is static. 

“Chief? You there? Over.”

Nothing. I must be too deep for the radios to work quite right. Above me, the dull thuds of gunfire reverberate through the soil, and I glance up at the increased leakage of fine dirt through the boards and into the shaft. Sounds like the fight’s on upstairs, and I’m still out of position. Shit. I take a step forward, preparing to sprint toward the far end of this shaft. A loud ‘crump’ shakes the shaft, knocking me off my step. I fall against one of the vertical beams to steady myself. Another couple of loud thumps rattle through the empty mineshaft, almost knocking me on my ass. 

That’s when the creaking turns to cracking. Snapping. My heart starts thumping as I grab my maglite from where it fell, looking up the mineshaft ahead. A section of boarding breaks in half, falling to the floor, unleashing a cascade of clay and gravel which swallows the light from my flashlight. Another section collapses, closer to me. The force of stale air being pushed back along the tunnel becomes stronger as it closes in on where I’m standing. With a final, drawn-out creaking, the rest of the boarding starts giving way, the material held back by the old boards caving into the shaft like a tidal wave, a loud rumbling following it. I turn, screaming, and run like hell. The only instinct in my mind is to escape, to try and get away from the rapidly-disintegrating tunnels. I get about thirty feet before something catches the back of my leg, staggering me forward, and something cold and hard connects with the back of head, plunging me into darkness as I hit the floor.

* * *

I feel cold, and damp. Particularly, my pants feel like they’re soaked through, as does my left arm. Great. I probably fell in something when I got knocked out. Bet everyone’s going to utterly ridicule me when I get back topside, act like I pissed myself or something. My chest feels quite tight, uncomfortable, the back of my head hot and painful where whatever knocked me out struck. I open my eyes with a grunt, staring down at the floor. My mouth feels dry, and I spit out a little dirt that must’ve ended up in my mouth after I fell. My maglite is a couple of feet away from me, facing me, my gun is behind that I think. My helmet, presumably having fallen from my head as I fell, lies a short distance away, upside-down on the floor of the tunnel. A crackling of static is all I can hear from it at the moment. The bright light is painful to my eyes, especially in contrast to the pitched darkness surrounding me. I reach for the Mag-lite with my right arm, hissing in pain as a stinging radiates from my shoulder. Strangely, my arm refuses to budge. My left arm is out in front of me, so I press against the floor and try to scramble to my feet.

“Agh! FUCK!” I yell out, as a hot agony lances up through my legs. I try to wriggle them. Another wave of burning pain, which feels like it’s coming from my right shin, passes, forcing me to grit my teeth. My eyes fill with tears at the intensity. Still, my legs- hips, body even- feel completely immobilised. Like…

I start remembering again _why_ I’m in a mineshaft. Moreover, what happened before I got knocked out. I twist my head, trying to look back at my legs. 

Oh no. I try and stay calm as my chest tightens, no doubt in part as I realise what my situation is. Pressing down on me,and burying me up to my armpits, is earth. I’m glad Ramirez insisted on those plates now, as my body armour seems to be the only thing giving me breathing space. Even then, I can feel a little bit of earth between my top and the inside of the armor vest. Stretching my free left arm as far as it can go, I grasp for my maglite. Even at full stretch, grunting and heaving, it lies just outside my grasp, taunting me. I look back up the tunnel ahead of me. All that I can hear is more creaking from the beams that are still intact. It’s hard to not hyperventilate when my chest can barely expand, shallow breaths being all that I can take with so little space for my chest to expand into.

“Hey!” I yell, hearing my voice echo back between panted breaths. “Hello? Anyone?!” 

My voice bouncing back and forth is the only noise beyond those of the support beams. I try and twist my body in an attempt to free myself, or at least make some space for me to breathe, but it’s futile. I don’t know how long I was out for, but in that time the debris around me has compacted, encasing me firmly. 

Does anyone even know I’m still down here? My eyes fall again upon my helmet, probably knocked from my head when I fell. In hindsight, if I’d left it strapped up then I might’ve been able to try the radio a little easier. It looks to be closer than the Mag-lite, maybe I can reach it. 

“Price, do you read? Over!” The crackling speaker echoes to me. Yes, I’m here! “I’m here!” I yell at the helmet in vain, unable to see whether the mic is still attached properly or whether the switch is set to ‘Send’. I scrabble forward with my free hand, clawing at the dirt. If I can just reach my helmet, maybe I can let them know I’m down here! I throw my shoulder forward, gritting my teeth against the agonising waves of pain from the broken and dislocated bones. The trailing chinstrap is so temptingly close, practically within my grasp. Come on, just a little closer-

Something gives way above my head. A broken section of beam falls down, landing on my wrist with a crunch. I try to pull my arm back, out from under the broken oak. A fiery pain shoots along my arm, and I scream out in pain. The tears in my eyes build, and I break down, sobbing.

“HEY!” I scream out again, in the futile hope someone’s further along the shaft. “HEEEEELP! PLEASE, HEELP!”

No doubt on account of the agony from the broken wrist, leg, and dislocated shoulder; and the shock; and lack of air, the air I’m sucking down begins to feel heavy, the pulse throbbing in my neck slows, and a blanket of darkness settles over me.

* * *

I’ve no idea how long has passed since my last bout of consciousness. My hand feels numb, tingly, the weight of the beam pinning it to the floor immovable. Gratefully, I still have enough space to breathe, the vest still maintaining some degree of shape in the face of the earth that holds me down. I wiggle my fingers and toes on my right hand and my feet, just to make sure they’re still there. They still feel cold, numb. My panting turns to whimpering, as at long last the hopeless situation I’m in dawns fully. This shaft is about a hundred feet down; I’m at least a few hundred feet along it, and there’s no way of knowing quite how far that actually is. The helmet, and with it the radio that might've given me a means of salvation, has been pushed beyond my reach. My left arm is trapped, my wrist broken. My right arm, as best I can tell, is useless too, pinned to my side under the collapsed material. Every move jars my shoulder, which by the radiating pain is almost certainly dislocated. To put it simply, I’m completely, hopelessly trapped. Even if both of my arms were free, my body is buried underneath tons of rocks and debris; attempting to dig myself free would likely cause another collapse and bury me entirely. Unless someone realises I’m here, and comes down to get me, there is no escape. Given that nobody seems to know I’m still down here still, unable to escape… 

The question, then, is not one of how I’ll get out of here, but more likely how I’ll die. Running out of air, perhaps? No; I was heading for the exit elevator when the collapsing tunnel overtook me. The air’s stale, damp from the soil that now occupies a large section of the space, but it’s breathable. Chances are it’ll either be septicemia- as the wood that broke my wrist likely broke my skin, not to mention the gashes no doubt covering my legs- from an infected injury; or in a few days when I eventually dehydrate to death. So, this is it. This is how I die.

The light in my face is fading. I look back at the Mag-lite, as its batteries begin to fail. “N-no… please, don’t go.” I whimper, pleading with the Mag-lite to stay alight, my only company in the crushing darkness of the depths. Despite my pleas, the bulb flickers some more, its light failing. After what feels like an eternity, my flashlight, my only beacon in this dark hellscape, flickers once more and dies, plunging me into total, isolated darkness. My breaths become whimpers as my tears dry to my face, burning against my skin. I glance around, trying to get a point of reference. Nothing. The darkness totally envelops me, an endless, damp, featureless void from which I will never leave. The blanket of unconsciousness beckons again, my whimpering, shaking breaths fading again into the abyss.

* * *

I stare at Chloe, open-mouthed at her reminisce. My hands feel cold, as I look into Chloe’s eyes. They’re red, tears rimming them and dripping down her face. “So, yeah.” She comments, her voice cracked. “I was almost certain that I was going to die down there.” Her knuckles are red and raw, having scratched her hands repeatedly while recounting her ordeal. Said nails are digging into the back of her palm now, leaving deep marks on the skin. Her skin is pale, white as a sheet. Quite obviously, even six years later the events that she went through are still tormenting her, her personal demons in her own private hell, not of her own creation.

“No shit, Chloe!” I gasp, still trying to get my head around what she’s just told me. I can’t even begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been “H...How did you survive? I mean, you were trapped down there, alone, injured, buried… Just, how?” 

She looks down at the table again, her fingers rubbing in circles around the back of her palm again. “I passed out again not that long after the flashlight died. But Rachel… Rachel was my fucking guardian angel.” She professes. “After everyone got back above ground, she realised that I wasn’t there. Apparently, she nearly shot the SWAT dude that split up with me. Wasn't his fault, I guess. Still, that’s Rachel for you.” 

I can’t help but smile at the image of Rachel doing that, and Chloe smiles back at me. “As soon as Ramirez found out, he brought in everything he could get hold of to get me out of there. I’m just glad there were still a few mines operating nearby, most of them had rescue teams trained to deal with those areas."

* * *

I only remember hearing things the next time I regain consciousness, not seeing them. Hydraulic jacks. People talking. Material, rocks, being moved. Clanking, screeching. An emergency siren, and a vitals monitor.

The air is no longer damp, cold, stale. It’s clean. Dry. The pressure against my body is gone, replaced by a comfortable lightness on my chest. My legs and arms feel stiff, but again the weight of earth is absent. I crack my eyes open, slowly, to a warm white light. Am I… did I die?

My eyes adjust to the lack of darkness, confirming the truth to be anything but. In the back of my left hand is a needle, hooked to a drip; the faint sounds of medical equipment whirring and working away fills the silence. My right arm is in a sling; my left forearm up to my wrist is in a cast, as is the lower part of my right leg. Both of my legs hurt like fuck, but it still feels a little better than the last feeling I had in them.

“Hey… sleep well?” A soft voice utters to my side. I roll my head, groaning at the stiffness in my neck. “Bet you’re glad you listened to the boss and wore your plates, huh?”

I grin, eyes watering as I look at my partner. “Y-yeah. How am I… here?”

Rachel smiles, tearing up a little too. “You thought you could go missing and I wouldn’t notice?”

* * *

_21st April, 1985_

_9.40 am_

_Two Whales Diner_

I smile at Chloe, brow furrowing. “I’m guessing the scars weren’t just physical, though. Also, sorry about twisting that wrist. You know, back when I, uh, cuffed you to-”

Chloe waves a hand, dismissively. “S’fine. You’re right, by the way. It took a couple of weeks for anything to manifest, but when it did… Oh god, when it begun…” Chloe curls in on herself, realises she’s doing that, and shakes. “Maybe I deserve it.”

“Chloe…” I groan. She’s beating herself up about this. She shouldn’t be- she has a perfectly good reason to have freaked out. I know a little about this, some from watching my dad, and some… yeah. I want to say something to her, make her see that it’s fine, but I’m not sure what to do.

“I guess I must seem like a total ass, getting all jumpy and panicky and freaking the fuck out just because I got my stupid ass stuck in the mud.” Chloe continues, rambling. “I mean, if I hadn’t panicked, I might’ve still gotten myself out, right? But no, I got myself all freaked out over a little nothing.” 

Yeah, unlikely, Chloe. I could barely get myself free when I was waist-deep, and with a solid board to put my weight onto; _you_ , on the other hand, were stuck up to your chest, completely hemmed in by mud, nothing within reach to help you get free. You didn’t have a chance of getting out, no wonder you were scared!

“ _Chloe…_ ” I grumble at her, becoming increasingly more annoyed. She is just bashing herself, guilty for absolutely no fucking reason. She’s still beating herself up though, as though for some reason she’s not _allowed_ to have had a panic attack, having come face-to-face with her worst nightmare once again.

“...And besides, I thought things like Post-Traumatic Stress only happened to soldiers.” Chloe’s nervous rambling continues. “I mean, what the hell did I fight? Nothing!”

“Chloe!” I snap, leaning forward and breaking her out of her cycle of self-hate. “You have _nothing_ to be ashamed of, okay?” My palms feel as though they’re heating up, becoming clammy, even, but I ignore it for now. “Yes, Post-Traumatic Stress is fucking dreadful, and everyone seems to think that _this_ or _that_ doesn’t or can’t cause it. Well, fuck that! And fuck them! You were in a situation that must’ve been fucking _terrifying_. It’s perfectly okay to be scared sometimes, never let anyone tell you otherwise. You could have died, you almost did! no wonder it left a mark.” I tell her.

Chloe locks eyes with me. The emotions in her eyes tell me everything I need to know. “You... you mean that?”

“Of course I fucking mean it, Chloe.” I affirm. My hands are definitely heating up. Did I wrap them around my coffee or something? “Especially with what happened in that trench. That’s, like, a carbon-copy of what happened to you the first time around. No wonder you freaked the fuck out! I almost certainly would’ve…” I glance down at my hands, still unable to understand why they feel so hot. 

Oh. As it turns out, my hands are clasped tightly over Chloe’s. She glances down too, realising the same. I whip them away, as though they had been in contact with an electrical socket. “I-I’m sorry, Chloe. I had no idea I..”

“Don’t worry, it’s fine, Max.” Chloe whispers. It almost definitely isn’t okay, given how shaky she is. “Mind me going out for a smoke?”

I shake my head. “Not a problem… sure you’re okay?”

Chloe nods, trying to make her facial expression tell me otherwise. “Totally. Gimme five.”

With that, Chloe slides out of the booth, and strides out of the diner- quickly. As the door closes behind her, I reflect on what just happened. I took hold of Chloe’s hands, for fuck’s sake. I really, really need to tell her soon. I need to tell her that I love h-

**_Go on, act like the fucking whore that you are! I’ll deal with you, teach you a fucking lesson!_ ** **He roars, as he storms toward me.**

A freezing cold shiver shoots down my spine, taking the feeling from my fingers. The mug, lifted a few inches off the table, drops back down, a few droplets of coffee splashing onto the table. I clutch a hand to my stomach, trying to get my rapid, shallow breathing back in control. My heartbeat thrums again, ten beats to the dozen, through my neck and ears, drowning out everything else.

“Hey, you don’t look so good, Max.” Joyce notes, snapping me out of it as fast as it began. “You feeling okay, honey?”

I nod vehemently. “Yeah. I think so.”

* * *

I make it outside and out of sight of the diner- and Max- before my emotional barriers collapse and I break down entirely, back against the wall. A hand gropes over my hair, dragging down to join the other on my face. Max's hands over mine were the last straw, the last crack to break me. I fumble my hand toward the pocket containing my cigs and lighter, eyes clouded and useless with the flood of hot tears. Gripping the stalk tightly, I try to slot the filter into my mouth, with no success, jittery hands unable to guide the cigarette properly into its place. I clutch at my eyes as the involuntary sobs take hold of me, my eyes and cheeks saturated in moments, the tears beginning to soak into the top of my shirt. I suck my breath in through gritted teeth, the voices of the past and the self doubts that came with them ricocheting, shattering parts of my mind like ball-bearings in a glass house.

"Fuuuuuuck!" I hiss at myself, throwing it to the floor. My fingernails dig into my hands again, and I rock back and forth, sobbing. If Max hadn't- I bang my head against the wall, cutting that thought right there and then. It's not Max's fault I'm like this right now. It's not mine, either. I don't know why the fuck I'm getting so worked up over this. I want her, I really do, but-

I hear something. Footsteps. I crack my hands from my face, flinching as I recognise my visitor. She flops down alongside me, one leg out straight while the other remains bent at the knee, keeping a foot flat to the floor. I blankly stare into her glassy eyes.

"I wish you'd stop fucking doing that to me, Rachel." 

Rachel giggles, darkly. "You know you like a surprise."

I roll my eyes. Of course she'd say that. "So what is it now? Come to mock me when I'm at my lowest? Make me feel like a bigger piece of shit because I'm falling for Max?"

She smiles at me. Well, if a smile is possible from her pale, waxy, rotting complexion. "Now why would I want to do that?"

I shrug. "I'unno, because I'm not faithful to you any more? Because you're in the ground and I'm running around with another woman as my partner? My…" My mouth dries up, and my gorge rises, cutting the sentence off. Rachel shakes her head at me.

"Chloe, Chloe, Chloe… how the fuck can you be unfaithful to a dead woman. I _am_ dead, remember? 

I fight the tears back some more, taking a deep breath to try and have the air to speak. “B...But I…”

“I know, Chloe.” Rachel admits, defeated. “But you _have_ to try and move on. Mourning and grieving for me is one thing, but you can’t let yourself remain stuck in the past. You have to try and move on, for your own sake. Staying like this, being heartbroken over something neither you nor I could have expected, much less prevented, is just going to mean that you keep hurting. I don’t want you to hurt, Chloe.” Her apparition says. “You deserve another shot at love, and at life. You’ve got one.”

Her hand grasps the side of my face, her piercing hazel eyes locking with mine. All the while, her long, nigh-impeccable blonde hair flows in the slight breeze, rippling like water. The feeling of her warm, smooth fingers against my face is comforting, the most comforting sensation I can think of. “So take it. Take your shot. I don’t think I know anyone who deserves it more than you. Fuck knows I’d jump at the opportunity to love, _truly_ love, if the roles were reversed.”

An instant later, I’m alone again. A shivering, broken woman, hiding in an alleyway as I try to smoke and take on board everything that has just happened. She’s right, even if she was never really here. Maybe- Maybe I do need to try and let go. Maybe I need to… 

My jaw clenches as a tidal wave of nausea batters its way through me, a horrible acidic burning rising in the back of my throat.

* * *

_10.00 am_

Chloe returns from her cigarette break, dropping back into her seat across from me. I can tell at a glance that she’s been crying her eyes out over something. I hope I didn’t do that to her, I’d hate it to have been me that upset her. Nonetheless, Chloe grins at me, as she does when she tries and fails to deflect my attention. 

“So, you just about done, hippie? Or do you need a donut to get that little ass of yours working properly?”

I gasp, batting at her arm. “Cheeky bitch!”

Chloe cackles again as she bolts from her chair, barely dodging my hand as I grasp at her. I take off in pursuit, all the way to her truck.

A few minutes later, we’re rolling again. We’re still a ways out from the precinct, but at any rate that gives us time to enjoy the journey, I guess?

“Man, I hope Wells goes fucking easy on us for once.” Chloe remarks, putting a cigarette between her lips. I flinch again at the sound of the flint striking, which catches Chloe’s attention. She pulls the truck over for a moment, giving me another curious, studying stare.

* * *

**[TW- SERIOUS ABUSE FLASHBACK BELOW HERE]**

* * *

“What’s with you and that lighter, anyway?” Chloe probes. Her cigarette is closer to me than before, my throat feeling like someone is throttling me as the intense smell reignites that which I thought I’d buried. 

“Surely, you aren’t scared of a little…” Chloe says as she turns the cherry-red ember at the cigarette’s tip toward me. The words beyond that don’t come out as sound, her lips moving silently.

I want to stop her, to tell her not to do this, but all that comes out is a choked cry as I stare down the burning tip. The truck, the busy suburbian streets, Chloe… they burn, melting away as ash. The smell of searing flesh overpowers me once again. I cry out in pain as the hot cigarette end is pressed against my forearm, a horrible sizzling as it burns. Mother twists the cigarette into my arm harder, making me scream out in pain once again. I try to pull my arm away, but it’s strapped down into the chair, as are my legs. My eyes sting from the tears and the odd waft of smoke getting into them. The room is dark, dingy, dilapidated. Aside from the cigarette smoke, there is the smell of something else, something I don’t know the name of. 

“Mom, PLEASE!” I cry, haggard. “Stop!”

Mother leans in toward me, her breath reeking of alcohol and cigarette smoke. “Why should I, Maxine? You’ve been a _very_ naughty girl, and you _deserve_ to be punished!” She hisses in my ear. 

“Indeed she does.” Father adds, his face a cruel snarl. “Because a _little birdie_ tells me Maxie has been acting up around other girls at school. Isn’t that right, Maxine?” 

“N-No! I-” I blurt out. My words are cut short by the swipe of Father’s palm, slapping me hard across the face.

“LIAR!” He roars, his fingers digging hard into my shoulders. “I _KNOW_ you’ve been acting like a fucking dyke, because you’ve been _WATCHED._ So _answer me, Maxine._ Are. You. A. Dyke?” He growls.

“Why- Why are you doing this to me?” I sob, shaking in place, unable to move. These are my parents- why don’t they love me? What have I done wrong?

“Answer the question, you horrible little bitch!” Mother snaps, springing up from her seat, smacking me over and over. Are the screams mine, or hers? After what feels like a lifetime or three, the barrage ceases, my cheek red hot and stinging as the tears form a torrent down my face.

“I don’t know!” I wail at them. What even _is_ a dyke? I like my friends, why do my parents hate me for liking my friends?!

“That’s as good as a yes. You horrible, _horrible_ little girl.” Father says, his voice low, scary. “It’s about time I taught you a lesson. A lesson you’ll remember for the rest of your fucking miserable life.”

* * *

**[END OF SERIOUS ABUSE FLASHBACK]**

* * *

The moment my cigarette points toward Max, she makes a gargled gasp and freezes solid, the colour disappearing from her face. Her eyes are affixed to the smouldering tip, like the barrel of a gun. 

“It’s okay, Max, it’s only a cig. It ain’t gonna do you much…” My nervous chuckles subside entirely as [Max begins to break down into tears](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AZKcl4-tcuo). 

That’s when I get a proper look at the marks on Max’s arms. Small, circular… burns, definitely old-looking. I glance at my cigarette, and back at the marks on Max’s arm. Without a second thought, I crush its glowing tip out with my fingers, wincing at the slight pain of scorching ember contacting the not-so-tough skin of my fingers, throwing it as hard as I can in the other direction. Even so, Max is still frozen in place, a blubbering mess. 

“Max, it’s okay! I got rid of it!” I beg her, edging closer on the bench. Max is still shaking like a leaf, a sheen of cold sweat across her exposed skin.

“Max?” I call once more, gently putting my hand on her shoulder. In a moment, She jolts, snapping out of her near-catatonic state, and lunges toward me, her arms gripping around me tightly, as though letting go would see her dragged from the truck. Her sobs become pained wails, muffled against my shoulder as she buries her face into it. 

“Please, don’t let them take me!” Max wails, her chest heaving as her sobs remain out of control. I put my arms around her, one hand rubbing up and down her back to comfort her. My chest hurts, and my heart feels like it’s being squeezed by iron rings. Above all else, I feel anger. Who did this to Max? Who the _fuck_ hurt her this badly, messed her up to this degree? I want to find them, and hurt them, make them suffer for what they’ve done to her.

“It’s okay, Max, it’s just me.” I coo in her ear, still gently rubbing her back. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you, I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Slowly, the sobs begin to subside, and Max’s vice-like grip begins to ease off (which I’m kinda grateful for, given how she was damn near squeezing the breath out of me). Her head raises from my shoulder, face still streaming with tears from puffy red eyes. I can feel a few tears beginning to build in my eyes, looking at the broken, distraught woman in my arms.

“Dude, I…” My voice cracks up a little, still torn up at seeing Max like this. “I’m _so, so_ fucking sorry. I should’ve fucking thought about what I was doing and-”

“N-no, Chloe, it’s… it’s not your fault.” Max, still trembling, says. “You didn’t know.”

“No, I should’ve known better. I mean, I saw some of those marks on your arms, how you reacted to me sparking up, I should’ve _known_ better than to go waving a lit cig in your face. I am so _fucking STUPID._ ” I growl, enraged entirely with my own piss-poor powers to know when not to do something. When to know something was up, instead of triggering off something horrible within Max.

“No, really Chloe… it’s not your fault. I… I should’ve been more honest with you, like you’ve been about everything about you.” Max tells me again, trying to inspire some degree of self-esteem instead of the shittiness I feel.

I release her, gently, allowing her to move away a little again. “Do you…”

“Wanna talk about… about it?” Max completes my thought once again, looking away. “I’ll try. For starters, my surname, my actual surname, isn’t- wasn’t- Caulfield. Fucked if I can remember it, though. Not that I ever want to, either.” Max begins.

I blink, a little taken aback. “So you were adopted, I’m guessing?”

Max nods again, sniffling to try and stop her running nose. “I was about eight or nine at the time. My adoptive parents, Ryan, Vanessa… I couldn’t have asked for better parents. Caring. Compassionate. Open-minded. Everything that-” Max stops, taking a few long, deep breaths. I know exactly what she’s doing from personal experience. I stopped using it years ago, I never found it to work especially well. “They were everything my real parents weren’t.”

A horrible twisting sensation passes through my gut, making me grimace. Max continues, her breaths between statements short and shaky. “They were… homophobic, for a start. Nothing I ever did seemed, seemed good enough for them.” Max gulps, screwing her eyes shut. “They… hurt me. Beat me. Burned me. Cigarettes. Fire pokers. Anything, really. The… the worst I suffered was a month or so before I was rescued from them. They’d allegedly been watching me at school. They- accused me of being a _dyke_.” A few small drips fall from the corner of her left eye. “I had no idea what that meant at the time. They strapped me in a chair, tortured me…”

“But… _why_? Why the fuck would they do that to their own fucking daughter?” I ask, halfway between confoundment and outrage.

Max looks at me, through squinting, puffy eyes. “They said it themselves. They’d rather have a coffin than… than a…” Once more, her grip on her emotions falters and she falls to pieces. I gently move back over to her, holding her once again. 

“It’s okay, Max. You’ve got me now. Hell, if you want me to, I’ll give up smoking, and-”

Max’s fingers gingerly press themselves to my mouth. “N-no. I don’t want you to… to have to change because of me.”

That funny feeling in my abdomen, of my innards doing a somersault, is back again. “I think I’ve learned my lesson, though. No cigarette ends, or anything fire-y near you.” I state, calmly.

Max nods. “Y-yeah. Pretty much. Fire is…” she shivers, as her sentence curtails. “Yeah.”

A voice in the back of my mind screams at me to do something, to kiss her. As I lean in, the radio on my side of the truck crackles into life.

“Chloe, Max, either of you there? Got a priority request for you, over.” Of all the times Nathan could radio in to ask for us, why would it have to be right now? Dude, talk about shitty timing. I stretch my hand out for the mic to reply.

“Yeah, we’re here.” I deadpan. “What the fuck is it now? Wells lost his whisky and thinks I stole it?”

I heard Nathan chuckling at the other end of the radio. “You can cut the annoyance out of your voice once in a while you know, Chloe.” Yeah, not when you’ve just totally- urgh! Never mind.

“Yeah, whatever. What the fuck is it, anyway?” I ask again.

“Welfare check.” Nathan briefs. Already, my stomach is going slightly awry- memories of the day me and Rachel were sent on a _welfare check_ flooding back into my mind. “Some old, run-down fuckin’ place on the edge of our precinct. And Chloe… be careful.” He says, cutting the connection.

“Chloe… are you alright?” Max asks, having finally gotten herself back to sort-of-normal after her own freak-out. “You’re white as a fucking sheet.”

I merely glance at her. “You heard what he said. Where we’re going. Doesn’t it seem just a _little_ familiar to you?” It takes a few moments more for Max’s brain to put the dots into line and figure out _why_ I’m- apparently- looking as though I’ve seen a ghost. 

“Oh.” With that, she shakily pulls her gun from her waistband, checking it over. Checking the slide, the magazine, everything. She looks as nervous and as apprehensive as I feel right around now. This all just feels like a horrible, horrible case of deja-vu.

* * *

_10.55 am_

_The House- East end of Precinct 14 Patrol Area_

I can start to see why Chloe’s so fucking worried as we pull up [outside the address](https://youtu.be/7YvAYIJSSZY?t=3). This place looks almost exactly like the house she described to me at the _Caligula_ , the one her and Rachel were sent to check out on the day Rachel was murdered. I look at the gun on my lap, picking it up and checking it over again for about the thirtieth time. Glancing over at Chloe’s hands, her knuckles are turning white again as they grip the steering wheel. 

“Hey.” I softly call out to Chloe, making her jump a little. Her grip relaxes. “Call me optimistic, but I think we’re gonna be fine.”

“What makes you think that?” Chloe asks. Her eyes, as ever, belie the true extent of her apprehension, fear. She’s _very_ good at keeping it hidden, buried away inside the back of her head, but I know she’s scared. I can’t blame her, if I’m completely honest with myself. This does feel like a repeat of the situation her and Rachel faced two years ago, and look how that turned out. I pop open my door, hearing Chloe do the same, and head toward the front door. For now, my gun is in my waistband; every fiber of my being hopes, prays that this is just going to be a normal, everyday check. If it is, I don’t want to give some poor old senior citizen a heart attack by pointing a gun in their face. Every step up to the front door creaks and groans as we approach the front door. 

That’s when I see it. In against the old, faded wooden frame of the door, a series of gouges. Someone’s forced the front door in with a crowbar, by the looks of it. I feel my stomach turn as I quietly reach for my handgun. I glance over at Chloe, who’s doing the same thing. She’s still very pale, but she’s holding it together. I move up toward the door, tapping it open with a foot. The moment it’s open wide enough, the pair of us dart inside, fanning out to either side of the entrance and scanning the building before us. 

“I think we should split up.” Chloe says, quietly. I lower my gun for a moment and look across at her. 

“Seriously?”

She lowers her gun, shrugging at me. “Well, me and Rachel stuck together when we were in this situation. _Didn’t_ work out so well. At least if we split up, the other might get a chance to catch this motherfucker.”

“Chloe, that’s beside the point. Didn’t you ever listen at the Academy? Rule One: _NEVER_ split up.” 

“The Academy.” Chloe scoffs. “Still a fucking rookie.”

“Chloe, take that back!” I growl at her, scowling at her. In spite of the frankly terrifying situation we might be in, and the potential that a serial killer is lurking somewhere in this creepy-ass house, Chloe lowers her gun to her side, giggling.

“Dude, you have no idea how hard it is for me to take you seriously when you pout at me like that!” She taunts. “It’s like watching a baby kitten get-”

The sound of a door slamming upstairs snaps her out of her brief ridiculing of me, both our weapons snapping up toward the noise. I roll my eyes. Chloe’s not going to budge on her plan, and frankly the sooner we’re the fuck out of here the better. “Fine.” I snarl. “You take the upstairs, I’ll take the downstairs. Meet back here in five minutes.” 

Chloe smiles across at me. “You betcha. Last one back’s buying first rounds next time we go drinking.” 

My groan is one of sheer exasperation. “God, you are fucking insufferable sometimes, you know that?” I ask Chloe, who is at the foot of the staircase. She merely gives me a knowing glare, before kissing her fingers and flipping me off. Charming.

I press on, hearing her boots clunking up the stairs. She really is about as discreet as having a freight train run through your living room, sometimes. This house really is giving me the creeps: everything keeps creaking, groaning, clunking. More than once, I spin around, absolutely sure someone’s behind me. Alas, the room behind me is empty, save for some old, worn furniture. As I approach a closed door, a horrible smell begins to make itself known. It smells like death, and the flies congregating toward the door are a surefire indicator of it. My hand rests on the door handle as I take a deep breath, steeling myself for whatever is on the other side of that door.

A loud thump from upstairs gets my attention, shortly followed by Chloe’s squeals.

“MAX!” Her voice cries out, muffled by the structure. “HEY, MAX! HELP!”

“Chloe?!” I cry out, turning and moving back the way I’ve come toward the entrance area and the stairs. “Hang on, I’m coming!”

“Hurry up!” She yells out again, clearer this time. “I feel like the blood’s rushing to my head!”

The fuck? “How the- never mind.” I call out again. “I’ll be there in a-”

I hear a whooshing next to me, the rushing of air. I turn my head to see what it is, but something hard strikes me solidly on the side of the temple. My limbs go limp, like a marionette without its strings. Everything goes black, the dull thump of my body hitting the decrepit floor being the last thing I distinctly feel.

“Max? Max!” Chloe’s shouts, pleas for help, sound as though they are a thousand miles away as my consciousness wanes into nothingness, an empty, soundless void.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did say that this chapter was dark.
> 
> I apologise if it seems like this is turning into a little bit of torture-porn: it isn't at all, but I needed to do a few things. One, you now get to see why Chloe freaked and had a panic attack in the last chapter; Two, you get an insight into Max's background, why she's so jumpy, and why there are those sporadic bouts of internalised homophobia. Poor Max.
> 
> We will _definitely_ be meeting Vanessa and Ryan- who in this story adopted Max, ICYMI- in a later chapter. There's a few good reasons to do it as well as it being part of the B-Plot. I do need to figure out where it'll go though.
> 
> Also, Chloe is- as Jib so eloquently put it during the beta phase- "Not subtle at all". And yes, I am going to continue to tease you all for at least another few chapters. Just because I can. ;) [Actually, not really. My original plot plan had the duo confess their love like eight chapters from now, but I've changed a lot around so it'll be.... soon.]
> 
> Finally, yes, I enjoy leaving you on a cliffhanger. Why would I not do that? 3:D I already know roughly what the opening scene of the next chapter will look like, but beyond that I do need to figure out a lot of the chapter's plot to make sure it is cohesive and that it progresses things right.
> 
> Given everything going on, I won't even attempt to give a release date for the next chapter as I have no idea what curveballs (or wrecking balls) life intends to send my way next. Could be a month, could be three, and as yet I've no way to say. That being said, this one was released about a month after Four dropped, so we'll see.
> 
> I'll try and provide updates either on the LiS Discord servers I'm in- _Life is Shiwkey_ and _Writers at The End of Time_ , or via r/pricefield.
> 
> Bye for now!


	6. Tied in Knots

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe finds herself in an unpleasant predicament, made slightly worse by a revelation or two that Max becomes aware of. Max connects the dots and finds a clue as to the identity of the Bay Butcher. Chloe agonises over her growing feelings for Max.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... Sorry this took a little longer to get done. Life decided to make my life all kinds of fun, between a few social gatherings, going up a Cumbrian fell in almost no visibility (navigating when you can't see anything isn't easy, let's put it that way), various social things, some college things and a lot of trying to work from home, and this chapter found itself on the receiving end of Adder's infamous inability to create for a while. 
> 
> However, it is done now. And yes, Aspect: I did read your comment, and I _DO_ seem to find new and more unusual ways to torture the audience. More on that later.
> 
> Anyways, this chapter was interesting to write in many ways. I definitely owe a major shout-out to a number of people on _Writers At The End Of Time_ for assisting with research and advice on several areas, notably Santa_Cruz and Rainboq. (If I missed you here, sorry, brain not exactly working)
> 
> You'd think someone like me would've looked up breaking and entering before now, but no... strangely, research for prior stories hasn't led me onto that tack until now. _[Also yes, hello you industrious fellows at GCHQ! That really was just me doing a Horowitz]_
> 
> Once again, a big thank-you to Jibbypuff, who beta'ed this chapter and suggested the title which I have gone with- spoiler alert, it is both a literal and metaphorical reference to the events of the chapter. :)
> 
> Anyways, enough pre-ramble from me. Time to pick up where we left off.  
>  **TRIGGER WARNING: GRAPHIC DEPICTION OF A MURDER, IMPLIED REFERENCES TO BDSM**

A dry, icky, horrible sensation fills my mouth as my arms, legs, feet and hands tingle, letting me know that they are in fact still attached. Everything feels stiff, and my ankles sting a little from where I was hanging. Shoulda seen that one coming. I hate to admit it, but perhaps Max had a point. One moment I was sweeping the room, the next I was flat on my face, the next beyond that I was being dragged upward by my ankles, my pistol dropped and out of reach below. 

I try and crack open my eyes, but the light floods them, overloading them with a painful burning, forcing me to scrunch them closed again with an uncomfortable groan. My retina feel like a hundred needles have been driven into them, making me shake my head involuntarily. My chest feels tight, my breathing constricted once more, my head throbbing in agony. My throat burns, no doubt on account of whatever the sonofabitch who did this used. Probably some good shit, given how I feel right now. I feel like I’ve been hit by a car right now. However, the blood doesn’t seem to be draining into my head, so I can only assume that they’ve had the good grace to lower me to the floor.

I shift a little, noticing something against my back. My arms feel like they’re behind me, and it feels like I’m sat against something. A wall, perhaps? The room feels pretty cold, so it’s not impossible that I’m in a basement of some kind. As the aftereffects of whatever drugs I was knocked out with wear off, I start noticing other things. A musty, damp smell, and an overriding stench of piss. Gross. I mean, surely a kidnapper understands  _ something _ about hygiene? I don’t wanna catch something from this place, that’s a definite. Beyond that, and without opening my eyes, there’s not much else I can tell. The floor under me feels cold and wet, though, which is equally unpleasant as my damp jeans stick to my skin. I try again to open my eyes, slowly this time. Letting them get used to the light as they open makes things a lot less painful, and before long I have them fully open. My sight is still a little blurry, out of focus, but slowly they regain clarity. I look up and around the room; sure enough, the marked, worn concrete of the walls and ceiling are barely visible in the dim light. A small slit window at what I guess is street-level provides the only light in the room, meaning that parts of the room are in pitched darkness. I’m just close enough to the light to be able to make out the colours of my clothing properly. A slight glint, just over to one side, catches my attention. Squinting, I can make out what looks like a handgun. It might well be mine. Wonder how that got there? Oh wait. It was on the floor when I got hit with that fucking trap-thingy, so whoever drugged me after that must’ve brought it down here too.

My train of thought is abruptly diverted by something tapping on my thigh, then stopping. Tapping again, stopping. Like…

Oh. Please, please,  _ please _ don’t be what I think that is...

I glance down at the source of the sensation, to find a roach chittering away happily on my leg, comfortably. The little critter looks up at me and chitters again, as I stare at it, a cold shiver passing down my spine.

I scream, eyes still locked on the roach.

“Get off me get off me get off me! Ew EW EW EW EWWWW!” I wail, thrashing wildly to dislodge the disgusting critter on my leg, eventually succeeding in depositing it back onto the cold concrete. That’s when a few more things that I hadn’t really noticed come into focus: One; my squeamish shrieks at having a cockroach on my leg came out as muffled, incoherent noise, a gag tied over my mouth- and I think they’ve stuffed something into my mouth as well to further muffle sounds- and nose, stifling any real attempt to speak or cry for help; Two, my thrashing barely moved me, my legs seemingly immobilised, and as I look at my legs I notice the thick coils of rope around them at my ankles and knees; Third, the thrashing and squirming worsened the smell of piss in the room, and set my lower body awash with a hot tingling as a damp, cold friction grated my inner thighs and crotch. I look down to find that a dark blotch across my lap and partway down my thighs.

_ Ewwwwwwwww! _ I whine into the gag, allowing my head to sag. This is even  _ more _ gross! I try and move my arms, rolling and thrashing my upper body instead, but they feel as though they are in a similar situation as my legs, bound together behind my back. Even with every ounce of strength I can summon, arching back against the object behind me, there seems to be absolutely no give in the bindings whatsoever. Funny, this doesn’t feel like a wall, or anything solid. It definitely moves back and forth as I move, though. Which is definitely weird. I wriggle and kick my legs again, pulling and struggling at their restraints, but that fails to provide any useful results. All it achieves, in fact, is grating my underwear against  _ certain _ parts of my body yet again, sending yet another burst of heat throughout me. The rubbing is exacerbated by my pants and lap being wet, making an already- uncomfortable tightness into a  _ wet  _ and rubbing tightness. I let out a hot sigh into my gag, trying to get my heart to stop thumping against the rope across my upper chest, which in my futile struggles has also been rubbing back and forth.

Note to self: wearing tight clothes to taunt Max is  _ not _ helpful when you’re tied up and trying to figure out how to free yourself. Nor does it make my life any more bearable that this… very  _ slightly _ gets me going, for want of a better way of describing it. Fuck if I know how or  _ why  _ I’m into this, but that is neither here nor there. The knotting sensation in my abdomen and the warm tingling in my body makes it ten times harder to think about freeing myself, because all I can think about is being tied up. It’s taking as much mental effort to suppress my urges right now, as it is to try and figure out whether I can get myself untied. I let my body sag as I stop fighting the bindings, completely unable to dislodge them and only achieving getting myself more pent-up as I try.

_ Perfect _ , I muse, as I roll my eyes at my predicament.  _ Just fucking brilliant. _

I try and roll my wrists, flexing my fingers upward toward where the ropes seem to be. Feeling for a knot, a binding, anything behind my back that I can dislodge and perhaps work my way free from. Nothing is within reach, though. Trying my best to ignore the wetness soaking into the lower parts of my pants as I do so, I wriggle my legs as best I can, to see if I can get them near my fingers. Sure, I can’t move my arms, but perhaps I can untie my legs? I arch them back up toward me, twisting my hips to try and get my ankles up into reach, but I can tell I’m nowhere near. I can feel the strain in my legs and body, anything more and I’ll probably tear something. With a discontented grumble and a sigh, I relax and let my legs return to a more comfortable position. Looks like I’m not going anywhere until someone finds…

Wait. I came in here with Max- assuming I’m still in the same house as the one we entered. Surely, she’s gotta be somewhere nearby? I need to find out. In spite of the gag, I cry out for her. “Maaaaaacf!” The pathetic, stifled mewl leaves my mouth. “Maaacf! Hllllf!” 

I breathe in hard again, crying out as loud as I can. “HLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLFFFFF!” Not very loud at all, in reality. 

The thing I’m tied up against starts moving. Wait, that was a person? 

“Clobi?” The muffled voice behind me asks. Wait, that  _ object _ I’m tied to is actually  _ Max? _ Oh. How strong were the drugs that knocked me out, to not realise that I was tied to her? Or, maybe I was too busy losing my shit over a roach, and making perhaps the most pathetic attempt to escape that anyone could’ve.

My heart skips and sinks at the same time. On the one hand, she’s been tied up too by the sounds of it, which takes a large hammer through the escape plan I had in mind; on the flipside, at least she’s alive. I flex my jaw, trying to get my gag loose. Slowly, it begins to give, and frantic rubbing of it against my shoulder finally removes it from over my mouth. I spit out the piece of cloth that was stuffed in my mouth, gagging at the dryness. My tongue feels like I’ve just had a pound of sand in my mouth, and it is  _ horrible _ .

“Max? Is that you? Shit, you okay?!” I whisper.

“Yfff. Mm hrrr!” Max mumbles through her gag.

“Can you move your head at all? Try and rub your gag off on your shoulder, that’s what I’ve done.” I instruct her. I hear her shuffling about behind me, grunting and mewing as she struggles. At last, I hear her spit something out. 

“Chloe? Shit, what happened?” She asks, desperate.

I try and think back over what I remember happening. “I got snared by something while I was upstairs. Some kinda trap- I ended up hanging from the ceiling by my fucking ankles.” I recall. In spite of everything, I hear Max chuckle a little. “Hey, it’s not funny! Besides, why didn’t you come and help me when I yelled for you, asshole?”

Max sighs, still mildly amused. “Oh, it is. I  _ did _ warn you that I thought splitting up was a bad idea, but  noo … you had to do it your own way.” Fuck. She’s right I suppose, but still, not funny. “Anyway, I tried to come for you Chloe. Do you remember what I last said?”

“Erm, not really. My head’s still fuzzy as fuck.” I answer. “You stopped talking mid-sentence though.”

“Uh-huh. Whoever got you got me first. I heard something moving next to me, then I felt something hit me in the side of the head. Lights-out for me.” Max explains. “Fuck, my head hurts like shit.”

“You and me both. I’ve got a pounding headache from whatever they drugged me out with.”

“Well, at least we’re still together.” Max points out. “Makes trying to get out of here a little easier. The sooner the better for me, it fucking stinks of piss in here.” She adds. I feel my face burning a little at the fact she’s noticed the smell. I suppose it was gonna happen some time or another. I somehow had a hope that she’d not notice till a bit later, but that was stupid of me.

“Um, about that…” I mumble, feeling the heat in my face building steadily. “That, uh… Sorry.” I mutter quietly, wincing as I wait for Max to figure out  _ why  _ I’m apologising.

The penny drops for Max a few moments later. “Ew! Chloe!” She whines, writhing and pulling to try and get further from me. “That’s gross!”

“Hey, it’s not exactly my fault!” I roar back, hotly. “ _ You _ try not to piss your pants when you’re out cold! Besides, whatever happened to  _ ‘Little Miss “Not Squeamish”’ _ ?!”

“Well, there’s a big difference between anything else and having someone piss themselves next to you, is there not?” Max counters. “I’m just glad it seems to be confined to you.”   
  


“Thanks.” I grumble, snarkily. “Can we get back to trying to get out of here now?”

“Yeah. Let’s.” Max answers, with a flat tone. I feel her struggling and writhing desperately behind me, probably trying to find a knot like I was. Soon enough, she reaches the same conclusion I did, panting slightly with the effort. “Shit. I can’t reach any of the knots. And my knife is in my boot, if it’s still there...” She notes.

A lightbulb flicks on in my head. “Max, press your back to mine for a sec.”

“What?” Max queries, perplexed. “How the hell is that going to help?!”

“You can’t reach your knife, right?” I remind her. “Well, if this fuckhead didn’t frisk us before he tied us up, I might still have mine. I can’t feel it right now, but I have nothing pressing against it.”

“Okay.” Max concurs, leaning back against me. My heart leaps as, sure enough, I feel the distinct cool leather of the hilt and handle being pressed gently between my shoulderblades. 

“Fuck yes!” I hiss. My joy is short-lived, however- try as I might, I can’t lift either of my hands high enough to grab the knife. Maybe if I roll my wrist around, try and reach at it from another angle… nope, that hasn’t worked either. “Shit. I can’t reach it.” I let out a deep breath, my struggles having once again disturbed and rubbed over certain  _ very sensitive _ parts of my body. 

“I’ll try and get it.” Max suggests. “I think I can just about reach that high up. Sorry if my hands are a little cold.”

I feel her cold fingertips lift up my shirt and contact the small of my back. I draw my breath in sharply, stiffening a little as her touch inadvertently strokes its way up my back, further adding to the sensations that are playing hell with me so far. She grasps upward, missing the knife handle. Her cold fingers and palms make contact with my skin again, against the lower parts of my shoulder muscles. I let out an involuntary whimper, biting my tongue as I realise it.

“What’s the matter with you, Chloe? Are you alright?” Max asks, concerned.

“”Uh, yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

“What made you whimper, then? Come to think of it, you feel like you’re getting a little hotter…” Max realises. Please don’t guess it, please don’t guess it, please don’t-

“Wait- are you getting  _ turned on _ by this?!” Max cries out, a mix of surprise and something else.

_ FUCK. _

“Uhm…” I mumble, unable to formulate any kind of proper reply. I may as well have said “yes”, because my answer all but confirms it to Max. 

“Oh, for the love of God.” Max mutters. “You have  _ got _ to be kidding me. Seriously?”

“Hey, don’t even start with this, Max!” I snap back, face red with a mix of humiliation and aggravation. “How do I know  _ you _ aren’t into being tied up, anyway? In fact, that’d explain a lot about you and Steph!” I start rambling, tangential. “I bet you just  _ looved _ playing the naughty schoolgirl, so Steph could bend you over her desk and-”

“ _ CHLOE. _ ” Max snarls. “If you  _ REALLY _ want to discuss this later, then fine. Now, though, is not the right time to discuss this, because I want to get out of here before whoever tied us up comes back. I’m  _ pretty _ certain they’re not holding us here for a coffee and a friendly chat. So, do you want to leave this discussion for later?” 

My face- by some unknown means- finds an even hotter temperature to burn at. “Right.” I whisper, feeling Max’s fingers groping upward toward the knife. Some pulling later, and the knife comes free, the sound of the blade catching on the sheath as it does so faintly audible. I wince a little as I feel its tip catching on my back as Max slowly removes it from under my shirt, its sharpened edge likely leaving a few nicks in my skin. Max shifts herself some more, and soon enough I begin hearing the heartening sound of the knife slowly slicing at a piece of rope. 

“I think I’m getting one of your ropes.” Max says. “Try and move your arms. Anything?”

I twist my bound arms once more. Sure enough, there is finally some give. It’s barely anything, but it most definitely is easier to move my arms than before. “Yes, it’s loosening I think.” I exhort.

“Good! Hold still, so I can finish it.”

A few moments later, as I strain my arms again, my wrists snap free. “Yes!” I hoot, quietly. I pull the ropes around my midriff over my head, separating us. Pivoting on my butt and ignoring the extra discomfort of squirming in the puddle under me, I turn to face Max and take the knife from her hand, to begin working on freeing her. Feverishly, I start sawing at the ropes around her arms, moving faster as more and more strands of the rope split and fray away. The knife slips, catching the edge of Max’s arm and making her hiss in pain. 

“Shit, sorry!” I yelp, seeing the blood slowly oozing into the cut where the knife broke her skin. 

“S’fine, Chloe.” Max mutters. “Just hurry, please. I can worry about the cut later, unless it comes into contact with the  _ floor _ .  _ THAT  _ might do me a little more harm.” 

I flush yet again, looking away in spite of Max’s inability to see me. Damn you, dude! “Hey, I don’t have anything nasty!”

Max chuckles to herself, as I glare at the back of her head. “Asshole.” Carrying on, I slit through the last few strands trapping her arms in place, hearing a quiet gasp of elation as she finally breaks her arms free. A few minutes and hot curses as the blade catches my hand later, and the last of the ropes binding us lie on the floor, sliced from us at last. I stand with my thighs a ways apart, my jeans being soaked back and front. My walk is limited down to an awkward waddle as my jeans stick and rub against my thighs and crotch. Max sniffs the air a little, wrinkling her nose. Assuming that’s another joke at my expense, I flip her off with a scowl.

“It’s not you, Chloe.” She replies. “Although I  _ can _ smell you from here- and you’re taking a fucking shower and change of clothes when we get back to your place- there’s something else. I could smell it earlier, before I got knocked out. Smell it?”

It’s hard to smell anything over the horrible reek of ammonia following me, but nevertheless I can just about see what she means. I suppress the urge to retch as the other stench catches in the back of my throat, nodding instead to concur. Max takes the lead, taking her handgun from where they were left by our captor and passing me mine. I follow her up the stairs, trying my best to ignore the uncomfortable chafing as I walk, the rancid smell Max drew my attention to growing stronger all the while. As we approach a closed door, the stench builds to an almost unbearable level, a small swarm of flies also present at the door. That’s not a good sign at all.

“Chloe, I… I think you should wait here.” Max says, putting a hand on the doorknob and steeling herself for whatever is on the other side of that door.

“Why?”

Max sighs. “I just… I have a  _ very _ bad feeling about what we’re going to find in there. I don’t want you to have to see anything that might take you back to… there.” She elaborates.

“No. I’m coming in with you. I, uh, I should be fine.” I tell her, bringing my gun up and moving over to the other side of the door.

“Fine, I’m not about to argue it.” Max concedes. “Just, if you feel like you’re about to freak, just please step out and take time to get yourself back in control. I really  _ don’t _ want to get punched in the face again, with how I feel right now. I’m surprised I haven’t got a concussion.” She adds. Not in a pithy or sarcastic manner, which figures, given I can now see the size of the bruise on the side of her face. Ouch. I’m actually kind-of glad that I got knocked out with drugs instead of a hit to the head.

After a moment’s hesitation, Max pushes the door open. Immediately, we’re hit by a wall of putrid stench, which doubles me over, retching and gasping for clean air. Max, somehow, isn’t massively phased by this, continuing toward its source: in the centre of the room is yet another body, strapped to a chair again. I try to swallow down the lump in my throat as I look this one over briefly. Her glassy, clouded eyes and off-colour skin suggest she’s been dead for a couple of days at least, maybe a week. The waxy texture of the skin, and the horrid smell in the room definitely suggest somewhere toward the far end of that timescale, for certain. Her blood definitely looks like it stopped flowing some time ago, congealed in rivulets on her clothes and skin, hard stains where it spilled out across the fabrics. There’s a few rips in her clothes, only some of which are consistent with the previous murder: some clean, done by a blade; others ragged and unclean, as though they were caused during a struggle. I only hope that she got some good hits in during her final effort to evade her fate. That being said, this body has been far more seriously mutilated than the last one, and some of it looks to have been done  _ after _ the victim was killed. That’s just fucking twisted on all manner of levels. Looking at Max, it seems she’s doing the same. She puts her hand to the corpse’s lap, retrieving a small envelope left there. 

“This asshole is really starting to get on my nerves.” Max notes.

* * *

_ 21st April, 1985 _

_ 3.30 pm _

_ On the way to Chloe’s Apartment _

A short while later, we’re in the truck, having called in the murder. Chloe’s sat in the passenger seat as by her own admission she still feels a little woozy. To be honest, I don’t feel all that great, but I can surely drive well enough to get us back to her place in one piece. A few other cruisers and a forensic team took over from us at the scene, while Chloe sat out of the way. She silently thanked me for handling it, rather than having to deal with ridicule from the other dickba- I mean, officers- for having wet herself. There’s something I’m still meaning to pry at, however, as I give my partner a glance from the corner of my eye. She looks pretty calm, considering we’ve just been face to face with another reminder for her of what happened to her partner. Too quiet, in fact. The last time she was this closed-off was just after we found Christi’s body, and Chloe had reacted badly to it. I really hope she isn’t going down the same path in her mind again, for her sake especially.

“How are you feeling, Chloe?” I probe, gently. She looks over at me, and that look is back in her eyes. The look that tells me she’s thinking about  _ something _ . The look that’s been appearing in her eyes when she looks at me for about a week.  _ What _ is she thinking about, though?

“I’m fine.” She deadpans. I’m not convinced, especially with her facial expressions as they are.

“You don’t look it, Chloe. Now, I totally understand if you’re having a hard time with what we just saw, or if it’s setting anything off in your mind, but please, be open with me. It’s hard enough for me to try and help when I  _ know _ what’s wrong, never mind when I don’t.”

Chloe grimaces. “Okay, you’re right. I  _ do _ have a lot on my mind right now. Like with these murders, there just seems to be an endless fucking trail of bodies with no killer at the other end. “That, and-” she cuts her sentence short, eyes widening. “Never mind.”

“Never mind  _ what _ , Chloe?” That look in her eyes seems even stronger, if that makes any sense. After a few moments of tense silence, she grumbles. It seems to be in the same vein as her looks toward me for a while now. I’m not sure she’s thinking: are her worries centred around me? Perhaps she’s worried I might end up the same way as Rachel- namely, dead. Then again,  _ why _ would that particularly worry her? I’m her partner, last I checked, and I’m not exactly that close to her in spite of everything. Perhaps I’m misreading her, though, or her walls are taller than I realise. 

“Just forget I said anything.” She sighs, flopping back against her side of the truck. “Can we change the subject, please?”

Okay, so whatever it is that’s playing on her mind is something she doesn’t want to discuss it with me. What would that  _ mean _ , though? Two weeks ago, I was just an inconvenience to her- as she was to me, to be entirely honest. Skip back to now, however, and that isn’t so. I know exactly how I feel about her, it’s just a mental block keeping me from opening up to her.

Is it to do with me then, this other concern of hers? Is it  _ me _ , period? A weird fuzziness passes through me again, and I too choose to drop the topic. The topic replacing it, however, is going to be one that’ll no doubt make her uncomfortable. In a fun way, instead of a worrying and tense way.

“Very well. How is it that someone who’s afraid of being trapped gets turned on by being tied up? I mean, surely those two things are mutually exclusive, given that bondage is basically just being voluntarily trapped.” I ponder aloud. Again, in my periphery, I see Chloe’s face start burning. Her bulging eyes tell me more that she thought I’d forgotten all about this little bit of knowledge. Sorry, Chloe, but even being knocked out cold and having a killer headache isn’t going to make me forget  _ that _ . Hehehe.

“Oh come oooon!” She whines, horrified. “I thought you said we weren’t going to talk about that?” Her hands are covering her face again, but I can see just how hot the edges behind are glowing. Muahaha!

I chuckle. “No, I said we could discuss it once we’d escaped. Guess what, we’ve escaped. Well,  _ we _ have escaped being tied up.  _ You, _ on the other hand, haven’t quite escaped the question at hand. Sooo…?” I add with a devious cackle. Chloe groans some more, shooting daggers at my smug grin, finally caving with a petulant grumble.

“Fiiiiiine.” She whinges. “I, uh, I found I had a  _ thing _ for it in high-school. I experimented a lot at the time, with all kinds of things, and that seemed to get me going. It probably didn’t help matters when I met Steph some years later, either. Jesus  _ Christ _ is she good at that kinda thing.” She confesses. 

I feel a slight tingle between my thighs, but keep my mouth shut and a straight face. No way am I giving Chloe any hints right now, heh! “I suppose it just stayed with me. For some reason, even being tied up like we were earlier doesn’t scare me. Annoyingly, it has about the opposite effect.” She continues, still looking just as red-faced as before. I bet she thinks she’ll never live this down; I’ll let her in on my  _ secret _ , eventually. Right now, after all of the ribbings I’ve received from Chloe, it’s about time I got my sweet payback. And my God, is it nice to have her on the back foot. 

“So it would seem. Weird. I guess kinks are a bit like that, though.” I note, breaking away from my reflections. “Anyway, I take it you and Steph are pretty good friends? I mean, ‘fun-in-common’ and all.” I ask. There’s still quite a lot of Chloe’s background that has me curious, a few grey areas which I’d like to shed light onto. 

Chloe rubs the back of her neck, awkwardly. “Uhm… Now? Yes. Back when we first met? No.”

I glance across at her at a set of traffic lights. “What do you mean?”

Chloe’s face is glowing hot enough to melt a hole in the truck’s rusted steel at this point. “Well, I did a lot of stupid shit after my dad died and before I joined the police. And after, to be honest. Quite a lot of bookings and a  _ LOT _ of reprimands, let’s put it that way.” Colour me fucking surprised, Chloe. “ _ One _ of these bookings involved Steph.” She vaguely says.

“Involved her how, exactly?” I can feel a knowing grin creeping onto my face, as I find myself remembering a vague story from when I last saw Steph, when someone had broken into her apartment. She sure as hell went to town on her burglar, from what she described. Surely, this isn’t the  _ other _ half of that story. Is it?  _ Is  _ it?

Oh boy. 

“I…Uh, I...” Chloe begins, flustered. I’m pretty sure this is the most unsettled and humbled I’ve seen her yet, and that’s saying something. I’m keeping as straight a face as I can, but every word she utters confirms my suspicions. “I got pretty drunk one night, and for some fucking reason I thought it’d be smart to try breaking and entering, just to see if I could. Well, I could. I mean, the  _ entering _ part went fine… I just didn’t get back out.”

“How exactly did  _ that _ happen?” I dig further. I have a pretty good idea of what happens next in this story of Chloe’s, but I actually kind of want the other side of the story. Chloe, meanwhile, looks like she wants the bench seat to swallow her whole. 

“I...uh...broke into Steph’s place. While she was home. And uh... yeah.” She mutters, quietly.

I try and swallow down a laugh, but in spite of my efforts I can’t stop the howls of laughter at Chloe’s expense from bursting out of my mouth like a crack in a dam. I can feel the tears of laughter in my eyes, blurring them as I pull over, unable to drive when my body is being wracked with spasmodic laughter at Chloe’s admission. Eventually, I calm back down, grinning at her. “And how did that work out for ya, I wonder?”

Chloe winces, her face telling me almost everything I need to know. “Well, I don’t know  _ exactly  _ how she got me. One moment I was merrily and drunkenly sauntering around the apartment, the next I was stood upright with a killer headache. My arms felt pretty uncomfortable, but that was about it.” She recalls. “It’s only when I tried to move that I realised I couldn’t. Well, I could wriggle and thrash around, but that was it. Arms tied above my head, one leg tied up by the knee and pulled up, the other balancing on the floor by my toes…” The flush of her cheeks tells me all I need to know about how she found the situation. “And there  _ she _ was, tormenting and toying with me until I apologised for breaking in, promised not to do it ever again. I couldn't sit comfortably for a good few days after she was through with me, for sure. Suppose it was better than her calling the cops on me, I’d almost never have lived it down- or, they’d have fired me. Probably both.” 

Chloe pauses for a couple of moments, probably trying to figure out the least embarrassing wording for her next recollection. “I think she figured out after a while that I was enjoying it, too, which didn’t help me in the slightest. I didn't realise there were so many ways to frustrate someone, if you get what I mean.” 

Yes, yes I do. Good grief, Steph undersold this story by miles when she recounted it! I stamp down on the thoughts in my head, as the annoying side of my brain tries putting together a mental picture of Chloe in that predicament. Nope, let’s not go there. I mean, not  _ right now _ , as I’d rather not give Chloe any suggestion that I’m into that kind of thing. All in due course.

Chloe cracks a sheepish smile, though. “Worth it in the end, though, I guess. I woke up in the park- albeit that I had to find some of my clothes after she’d taken them and left hints- and she’d left me her number.”

Yep, that sounds pretty much like the version of events Steph gave. Albeit that  _ some _ , from what Steph had said, was  _ most _ . Huh. It really is a small world. I must say I'm not entirely surprised to discover that it was Chloe of all people who had been snared by Steph. That being said, any onlooker would conclude that Chloe seems to go out of her way to get herself into all manner of predicaments. Finally, we arrive back at her place, her hopping out and waddling to the door. I'm halfway sure she's exaggerating it now; either that, or her underwear  _ is _ tighter than I thought. While she's getting changed, I strip off what I'm wearing- lest it have a trace of anything nasty on it, I don't wanna crap up the couch- curl up and catnap on the couch. Sleeping off the after-effects of my headache seems sensible. All the while, the more colourful details of Chloe that I now know swirl in my head, intermingled with some involuntary fantasising. 

Jeez, Max, pump the brakes.

* * *

_ 4.30 pm _

_ On the way to the Precinct? _

Max has definitely got the hang of the truck, I gotta hand it to her. Strange as it may seem, I'm still feigning being woozy from being drugged. Truth be told, I need time to think about a few things. A lot of things, actually. How I feel about Max is definitely becoming an issue for me, and one I need to deal with. Perhaps the biggest problem I have right now is trying to figure out when I should open up to her about  _ how  _ I feel. I've seen how she looks at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention, and it's damn near a mirror image of how I must've been looking at her.

I glance out of the window to see the Precinct… passing by. My brow furrows as I look over at Max. "Erm, Max, you missed the Precinct." 

She smiles at me, which is even more confusing. "I know. We're not going back there just yet."

"Any particular reason why?" 

“Well, remember what you said earlier? About how you were scared this was becoming a trail of bodies with no suspects in sight?” She says, eyes never leaving the road.

“Mhm.” I grunt. Silently, I ponder, worry, that I may join that trail. Or Max, god forbid.

“You weren’t quite right. I’m guessing you didn’t recognise that last victim?” Max asks me. 

I glance across at her, a blank. “Should I have?”

Max shrugs, as she continues through town, toward one of the more snobbish neighbourhoods. “Perhaps not. I only know who she is because of Christi. The name Samantha Jones mean anything to you?”

I can hear the mini-Chloe in my head rattling through a number of rusty filing cabinets, trying to find that name. Sure enough, I grimace as I recall it. “Oh, shit. Private Eye, right? The one who’d take on cases involving dirty cops.”

Max glances over at me. “Seems you’re familiar with her. Dare I ask why?” Loaded statement much, Max?

“Take an educated fucking guess. Here’s a clue- I was  _ massively  _ on her shitlist most of the time.” I grumble. 

“I guess. Well, it’s in the past now.” Max adds as we pull up at a house. It looks quiet. Empty, even.

Max is already out of the truck and headed toward an alley alongside the house, my hands fumbling for the door catch, legs scrambling to catch up without seeming out of place. Max glances around as she approaches a side door, leaning over to draw her knife from the sheath in her boot, I think. I’m glad she’s focusing on… whatever she’s doing. Otherwise, she might catch a glimpse of the fucking fireball that is my face gawking at her. Jesus fuck, I need to rein that shit in!

“Keep an eye out.” Max mutters, laying out-

“Is that what I think it is?” I ask Max, seeing the small lockpicking kit unrolled by her knees as she selects a few fine tools from it. They look a little bit too big to fit in the 

“Yes. Keep an eye out for me. Cops or not, we’ll still get in deep shit if someone spots us and dials it in.”

I glance between her and the alleyway a few times in the next few moments, steadily getting impatient. Or nervous, perhaps. Probably both. 

“How long’s it gonna take to pick the lock?” I ask her, glancing back at her again. For once,  _ her _ face is wearing a pretty condescending expression.

“What part of Breaking and Entering 101 did you flunk, Chloe?” She asks, tone dripping with snark. “I’m not even  _ looking _ to pick the lock if I can avoid it. There’s much easier ways in, like the one I’ve found. Observe.”

With that, Max pulls what just seems to be a piece of plastic from her kit, maybe the size of a credit card. “Lock’s an older kind.” Max states, jamming the plastic into the gap between the doorframe and the door. “So, if I can just get this in by the latch, and give it a little jiggle…” Sure enough, as she does so the door clicks open and swings inward just a little. The brunette catburglar in front of me grins. Where the  _ fucking fuckitty fuckballs _ did she learn to do that?!

“Open sesame.” Max says, grinning. Right before walking smack into the door as it rattles. It seems there must be a security chain on it, which Max totally forgot to check for. I snigger at her, as she blushes with embarrassment. I motion her out of the way and try to reach for the chain through the gap in the door. Fumbling around on the other side, I can’t quite reach the chain. My fingers just about brush against the chain, but I can’t reach up to the slide from this angle. The room within is completely dark, the lights being off and curtains drawn, so I can’t really see anything beyond. 

“Shit, it’s out of reach.” I mutter, more to myself than to Max. I try and pull back, to discover yet another problem, as the door squeezes against my elbow. I pull back again. Ow, that’s not nice. I blankly stare at where my arm is, wedged in the gap, before looking to Max. “Uh, Max?”

Max stares at me for a solid few seconds, eyebrow raised. “Let me guess, you’ve got your arm stuck?”

I can’t look her in the eye, just with the sheer humiliation of what’s happened. “Y-yeah. Think so.”

Max puts a hand to her face, shaking her head slowly. “Well, this is going great.” She mutters, as I try again to pry my arm free. It won’t budge, though, and the wood biting into both sides of my arm is  _ really _ uncomfortable now. Shit.

Max comes over to me, gently manipulating my arm to get it back out from the awkward and uncomfortable position I managed to wedge it in. All the while, Max’s body is seriously close to mine, her head close enough that I can feel her breath on my cheek. Holy shit. Must not act unusual, must not act unusual…

“Chloe, you don’t need to hold your breath. I  _ do _ shower, you know.” Max chirps, as she slides my arm free. Wait, have I been holding my breath? Fuck! I rub my sore elbow where it was pinned between the door and the frame, before addressing the obvious question.

“So, the door’s not an option. What else can we try?”

Max is already on it, eyeing up the window. She kicks the wall, cursing. “Fucking alarm sensors. No way we’re getting past that, Chloe. Maybe we should just try and kick the door in?”

I move her to one side and take a look at the window, and the sensors that Max has been dissuaded by. As I do so, I take a piece of gum out of my pocket and start chewing on it. I can see Max giving me a quizzing glare.

“Really Chloe? Chewing gum, right now?” She says. I grin, folding the metal foil into the shape that I need.

“Still a rookie, Cat-Max.” I tease,as I start to slide the foil into place. Her expression is a picture, changing from shock to a scowl in moments as she rebukes my nickname. “Now, as we both know, that alarm will trip if the contact is broken. However, if we get this foil up into  _ just _ the right spot…” I take the gum from my mouth and use it to hold the foil in place. “Now, the contact will think that it’s still intact, when in actual fact the window’s wide open. Go ahead, crack that bad boy open if you think you’re good enough.” 

Max apprehensively draws her knife, sliding it in against where the lock is on the window, easing it off with a click. Max’s eyes screw shut, expecting the alarm to sound the moment that the window opens. The perplexed look of relief on her face when she is met with silence is golden. I have to save that expression away in the back of my head because it is so adorable. I wince as I mentally chastise myself again.  _ Stop. It. Brain. _ Instead, I merely gesture her toward the now-open window. “After you.”

A matter of moments later, we’re in. The apartment looks almost untouched, presumably because nobody has been in here in- at a guess- a week or more. In the center of the living room sits a small coffee table, overflowing with all manner of papers and folders, the wall holding a corkboard covered in details of whatever Sam was investigating before her life was so abruptly halted. Off to one side is a kitchenette, a few dishes remaining on the drying rack where their user left them before heading off to work, never to return. A laundry bag, still part-full. Beyond the half-open door into her bedroom is a bed, its sheets still a mess from her having woken up and never straightened them back out. 

Max starts sifting through the mound of papers and folders on the coffee table as I take a closer look at the notes on the board. “So, I never finished explaining why we’re here, did I?” She asks, still focused on her poring through the 

“No, you didn’t. I take it there’s a good reason we just illegally entered a property without a search warrant?”

Max nods, still intent on searching the documents in front of her. “What if I told you I have a hunch that this  _ Bay Butcher _ asshole is one of us? A cop, I mean?”

My mouth dries a little as I think about the very thought of it. “You’re kidding, right?”

Max stops what she’s doing and glances up at me, a look of genuine concern on her face. “I wish I was, Chloe. If I wasn’t so sure, then poor Samantha’s apartment wouldn’t have been where I’d have brought us. Just out of interest, and bear with me here, was Rachel ever involved in any investigations. As in, was she ever asked to look into corruption within the Force?” 

My mouth moves, but no words come out. This can’t be real. This can’t be real. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I croak out a response. “She… she got in trouble for something years ago, leaking something to a reporter I think.” I huff, smiling as I recall the situation. All the while, Max’s slender fingers are flicking further through the pile of paperwork. “Hell, I remember saying at the time, if it had been literally anybody else they’d have gotten fired and written up on the spot, unions or no. I guess nobody wanted to incur the wrath of the DA.”

A smile appears on the corner of Max’s mouth. “I knew the name Amber sounded familiar. Give me a hand looking through these, will ya?” 

I kneel down, beginning to flick through another pile of folders. Fuck, Samantha seems to have dirt on half the Bay PD, and I wince as I pass my file. It’s almost twice the size of the others. Talk about being infamous. 

Max stops dead, pulling a folder out of the pile, seemingly not bothered about the others that fall by the wayside and flop on and around the coffee table. “Holy shit. This, this might just be the piece I’m missing. I think this just about confirms it. Our killer is a cop, no doubts about it.”

With that, she drops the folder in front of me. Sure enough, it’s a set of Samantha’s notes, on an investigation she never finished. Among them are her notes from a discussion with…

Max is shaking her head. Every blink seems to make her eyes wetter. “Poor, poor girls. You never had a chance.”

“Max?” I break her monologue. “You’re starting to freak me out.” 

Max leaves the folder where it is, and turns to face me as she stands. “Before we found this information, I was only part-ways sure.” Max begins, vaguely. “However, Samantha’s meeting with Rachel pretty much confirms what fucking worried me. This killer has a pattern.”

I open my mouth to ask, but Max answers before I have the chance to do so. “This killer’s been going for people looking into police wrongdoing. Until now, I wasn’t sure where Rachel fit into it all, but I think I know why she was murdered now.”

“Max, that killing was random.” I counter, still in disbelief. Every sense in my heart is screaming against me, telling me that Max is right. But which do I trust? Head over heart, or heart over head?

“If you don’t believe me, look at the date that Samantha wrote down. When was she murdered again?”

I kneel down at the opened folder, a horrible sensation in my stomach and an acidic bile building in the back of my throat as the dateline registers. Samantha and Rachel met one last time before that fucking ‘Welfare Check’, a matter of days beforehand. The notes suggest the killer is in  _ our _ fucking Precinct.

“May I explain what I think happened?” Max asks, gently. 

I nod, barely able to move as an unbearable pressure builds in my head.

“I think the reason this asshole killed Rachel, Christi and Samantha is because they were close to unmasking them. If things hadn’t happened the way they have- with the murders and Samantha’s notes, I mean- then I might’ve put it down to coincidence. With what we’ve got at hand, though… I’m certain of it. They’re killing to keep their dirty secret hidden, and in doing so they might just have fucked up enough for us to hunt them down.”

I barely register Max’s words, still stricken with the nuclear bomb in word form that lies before me. Rachel, what the fuck did you do? Who the fuck did you come so close to that you had to die!

I feel Max’s arm over my shoulder, as she squats down beside me. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have been so blunt about my theory. I know what she meant to you, if she was anything like Christi was to me.” She utters.

I shake my head again a little. “No, it’s okay.” I whisper. “Can we go?”

Max stands up, gently coaxing me onto my feet as she does.

* * *

_ 8.55pm _

In spite of how utterly shitty I feel right now, I’ve taken over from Max on the driving front. She gave me more than enough questions as to whether I was really in a fit state to drive, but I think I can manage. Truth be told, my mind is less on the revelations of the private eye’s apartment and more on the plethora of feelings and sensations set into motion in my heart and my mind again. There’s so many things that I want to tell Max, so much that I just want to be  _ open _ with her about, but I’m too scared of what she might say or do if I come on too strong. What the hell do I do? I grip the wheel a little tighter as catharsis, to try and help take out some of my frustration at my quandary. All the while, we’re getting closer to where I’m planning to take us for the time being. The road up here is as winding as I remember, the occasional light screech from the tires as I take a corner or two a bit too quickly. I glance out of the corner of my eye on a straight to see Max putting on a mock-terrified expression at my driving, up toward the hilltops that border one side of the City. 

This is a spot I’ve known about for years, one that I used to come to so much more, back when my life had more of a sense of meaning. Perhaps that’s why I’m back here again after so long; with Max at my side, maybe my life now has a sense of meaning to it. Perhaps it’s because of the nature of my visits to this quiet, picturesque spot all those times before that has led me here once again, all those warm, perfect evenings spent up here with Rachel. We reach a hairpin bend with a small area off on the outside of the corner, where I pull up and switch the engine off. The radio is still playing, but upon  [ hearing what’s playing ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uejh-bHa4To) I decide to leave it be. 

Just as I’d hoped, the view across the city and down toward the Bay itself is unparalleled. The sun is just beginning to graze the horizon out over the water, giving the endless rolling ocean a red-orange tinge as it does, the thin wisps of cloud overhead being given a vibrant pink tinge as they roll overhead. Far below us, beyond the rolling hillside and sparse trees, cars shuttle around the city streets, looking like kid’s toys in a play set. I get out of my side of the truck, hopping onto the hood. It’s still a little warm from the engine, but not so much that it’s uncomfortable to sit on. Getting myself comfortable, I lean back against the windshield, gazing out over the beautiful view ahead of me. Normally, I’d have lit up a smoke, but for some reason it just doesn’t feel right to do that today. Being here, as I am now, feels so much a part of my life, yet at the same time a part of it feels alien. I think I know why. A slight twinge flickers in my chest, as the strands of memory claw at me, pulling me toward the darkness of a past I lost.

I feel a slight movement in the truck’s body, as Max cautiously climbs onto the other side of the hood. I feel her side touching mine as she shuffles across, lying next to me. In an instant, my mind and heart tear away from the memories clinging to it like tendrils, Max’s presence an umbrella in the rainstorm that is my tainted memories. Oh, Max, if only you realised how I felt, what I want to say to you, but don’t know how to say it. God, why can I not have a better hold on how I feel?

“God, I wish I had my camera with me.” Max murmurs, looking out over the view. “I don’t know how many shots I’ve taken of the Golden Hour around this city. This would make for one hell of a photo shot.”

I glance over at her. “Golden Hour? The fuck is that?”

Max giggles, getting a tad closer to me as she does. “For those uncultured in photography, it’s what photographers call this kind of lighting. The hour before sunset, the Golden Hour. I mean, the name explains itself, right?”

My heart seems to skip every other beat as I nervously laugh in response. “I didn’t realise they made people who were two-hundred percent dork.” All the while, every sense in my heart is  _ screaming _ , begging me to take the opportunity that I’ve made to actually tell Max exactly what’s going through my head. My brain, all the while, is trying to hold me back from doing something I’d regret, like pouncing on her. The only thing that I’d regret is the very real possibility of fucking up how close we’ve finally come, from being at one another’s throats to being… being almost as me and Rachel were, all that time ago. It still feels like yesterday, when I used to wake up with a faceful of her hair, her giddy giggles at my attempts to untangle myself from whatever position we’d slept in, the feeling of her embrace as she 

“Eat me.” Max growls, grinning. “By the way, any particular reason your arm is over my shoulders? Not that I mind, just wondering.”

_ WHAT? _ I flick a subtle glance over and sure enough, I  _ have _ got my arm over her shoulder like some stereotype jock at a drive-in. Pulling my arm back now would just make her more suspicious, though, so i have to try and style it out. Yeah, good luck with that Chloe. I can feel the back of her shoulder blade poking against my forearm, the softness of her upper tricep against my palm, warm even through her shirt-sleeve.

“Uhm, yeah. Just in case you were getting cold. There is a bit of a breeze, you know.” I try and justify. Max continues giving me a very suspicious look, but goes with it. Thank fuck for that. We sit for a few minutes, the only sound being the occasional car passing by on the road- and the occasional asshole wolf-whistling at us- and the sound of the gentle breeze rolling across the landscape, rustling the bushes and trees on the other side of the road. That, and the gentle, slow music echoing out from my stereo. 

“I hate to talk about work when we’re somewhere like this,” Max starts, dropping the topic of Chloe-being-super-awkward. “But I can’t help but feel like we might actually stand a chance. You know, of finding out which asshole in our force is responsible for these murders. God, I can’t wait to run them into the ground.”

My stomach takes an uncomfortable turn as I start to worry about Max again. What if we’re wrong, and this murderer is already on our scent? Then what the fuck do we do? What if- No, I don’t want to think about that. I couldn’t have imagined in my worst nightmares the pain that losing Rachel as I did would cause me. If I lost Max too… I don’t want to think about it. I can’t physically cope with the thought of that happening, even the mere notion brings back snippets of the last moments I had with Rachel. I blink hard, trying my best to purge them from my mind’s eye.

“You’re sure we can catch them?” The questions slips from my mouth, and I scramble to explain myself. “I mean, they’ve been on the loose for years, and everyone who gets close winds up being murdered. How can we be certain that we’ll actually nail them without...” I can’t complete that sentence.

Max shifts toward me some more, squirming an arm in behind my back, her fingers curling around my ribs on the opposite side. She gazes into my eyes, a determination in her eyes unlike anything I’ve seen from her, or that I ever saw from Rachel.

“Above everything else, Chloe, we’ve both got a personal reason for nailing this bastard. For Christi. For Rachel. Besides, so long as we have each other to watch our backs, I don’t think this son of a bitch stands any chance. What do you say?”

What do I want to say? That I fucking  _ adore _ you, Max. Just, everything about how you act, how coolly you handle so much, how you just refuse to stop. That, and how fucking  _ cute _ you are in general. Especially with that super-dorkiness about sunsets and photography and…  _ Breathe,  _ Chloe. Holy fucking shitballs.

What do I  _ actually _ say? “Okay.”  _ URGH _ , why can’t I just come clean with Max right now? Perfect opportunity, and I just up and threw it right off this fucking cliff. Smooth fucking move, Price. “Still. What if we’re wrong?”

Max glances at her feet, her other hand tapping on her knee as she thinks. “Well, we just have to hope we can take them down with us.”

Even the mere thought of harm coming to Max hurts my heart. We sit in silence, gazing out once more at the glowing sky and rolling urban landscape, both locked in our own reflections, our own thoughts. If it comes to it, if it boils down to my life or hers-

My mind is made up. She’s suffered more than enough. Even without that, I’ve lost too many people that I’ve loved to be able to do it again. If it comes to it, I’m not going to let anything happen to her. Even if… even if it means she has to go on without me, that I die; so long as the fucker that killed Rachel is dealt with, I’ll accept that outcome. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yep. That happened. And that. And that too.
> 
> I did have quite some fun with this chapter, especially the finale. Now, will Adder get to the stage of this story where these two dorks _FINALLY_ get the elephant out of the room, or will an angry pitchfork mob descend on the picturesque (ish) coastal village he now resides in first? That is a very good question, and it depends on how long it takes me to write. Oh, and whether I manage to hospitalise myself doing Snowdon at the end of the month. (Yeah, I have some very bad influences for friends, lol. Not that I can't do it, more that weird and unpleasant things tend to happen to me. Like joints not functioning). And studying for Pure Evil, otherwise known as Control System Theory. Eek.
> 
> Before I get too far down the tangent, you may remember me saying earlier that I seem to find new and unusual means of Audience Torture? Well, I'm going to be beginning work on a long-term project, possibly (if I can find writers interested in doing so) even a fully collaborative effort. Not going to give too many deets just yet, only three:
> 
> 1) The title, while not totally final yet, is _Tempus Fugit_ ;  
> 2) It will consist of five chapters, with maybe a sixth as an epilogue.  
> 3) I intend to release it periodically throughout 2025. (Yes, THAT kinda long-term.)
> 
> For the smarty-pants readers, you have probably figured out exactly what this means. For those who haven't... sorry, but my lips are sealed. Until 2025, anyway. ;)
> 
> Until next time,  
> Adder
> 
>  **Post-deployment AN: 22:03, 10 August**  
>  I'm going to tweak a little bit in a later scene of this chapter later, as I had some beta advice on it that I forgot to incorporate. I would normally do it now, but it's 10PM, there is a frickin' thunderstorm brewing overhead and I haven't slept properly so my head feels like it has English Roadworks going on inside it. Noisy, banging hell.


	7. Saturday Night's Alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The stakes are raised after the duo are forced to take their investigation off-grid, encountering all manner of mayhem in the process. An attempt to unwind after a hard day chasing leads on the Bay Butcher turns into a gratuitous display of Max’s fighting skill, unleashed on a group of homophobes trying to harass them. Chloe’s ever-unreliable truck and ever-difficult emotions leads to a final, conclusive admission of feelings for both Max and Chloe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, okay, I know. I’m falling behind my original schedule, yes. LOL. Sorry. It’s been a busy few weeks: I’m now involved in an assload of work, and my college thinks Evil Maths (better known as Control Systems Theory) is fun. Spoiler alert- it is a nightmare. Though I seem to be mastering it at long last, only to lose my grasp on the Thermodynamics module. 
> 
> Anyway, on the advice of a writer FAR better than myself, I think I’m going to scrap the ‘schedule’ I put in place. No, don’t worry, the story is not going anywhere- I just can’t try and hold myself to a definitive timescale while also trying to help chase up actions for a major project at work and studying the second year of a foundation degree at the same time, as well as uphold a dozen social commitments. Relax, the Adder is still here. He’s just a bit like British Rail.. _[we are sorry to announce that the 19.85 service to Sadism has been delayed… please listen for further announcements.]_ :P
> 
> Also, I’ve started watching Life on Mars- strangely, my idea for a fic based on it came first, then I started watching it in order to sequence my thoughts and understand the plot. Yes, Adder’s brain is going into Fic Overload. So now I’ve also started writing a pilot for that, which will release once I finally finish TBL in its entirety. Halp. I may have a fic writing addiction.
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter. I think you probably will, later on ;)  
>  **Music not referenced in Main Body:**  
>  Final Scene- [Eurythmics- Here Comes The Rain Again](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TzFnYcIqj6I)

_27th April, 1985_

_10.30 am_

_Two Whales Diner_

Chloe’s sat across from me as ever, eviscerating the poor, defenseless bacon sandwich in her hands like she hasn’t eaten in a week. To be honest, I know the feeling she’s going through; we’ve spent much of the week visiting our own Precinct at night, when Wells most of the assholes like Eliot aren’t at work. Funny how Eliot never seems to work nights, at that. I’m not sure why, but that guy has _seriously_ stepped up the hate on me and Chloe recently. As a result, we’ve spent _A LOT_ of time tip-toeing around the case files at night, only us and Mark really in that part of the Precinct headquarters. Truth be told, a lot of the information in the files has been useless because of how old it is, but one of those places, an abandoned storm shelter under some derelict barn a ways out of town, was a goldmine. Mental note: next time we get stuck on a case, perhaps we should start by looking in there...

* * *

_“Holy shit, Max!” Chloe gasps, yanking open the old filing cabinet, resting her Maglite on top which shines back at her, small dark patches where the light doesn’t reach some of the features of her face. “There’s, like, a fuckload of files in here! Seems a good place to start.” I flick my Maglite in her direction, further casting a yellowish glow over the abandoned room. As I do, all the marks on the neglected concrete absorb light here and there, flickering shadows at our feet as I bring the light to bear. Sure enough, in the rusted old cabinet that Chloe's prised open, I can see the files lined up one after another._

_I peer over her shoulder, shedding more light on the cabinet and its contents. File after file of information on dirty cops. The file for our precinct is fucking huge. Chloe takes it out of the cabinet altogether and drops it on top, allowing it to flop open on the rusty, dusty top. Something in this old place falls outside, landing with a clatter that makes both of us jump. The next few moments are a deathly silence, as we wait to see if someone is here with us. The minute that passes feels like ten. With the Maglites off, it’s almost complete darkness, the only way I can tell Chloe’s near me is hearing her breathing, her breath barely touching my ear. Finally, the noise settles, and we turn our attention back to the open file. Oh my God._

_"Jesus, dude. Drug gangs, money laundering, protection rackets… is there anything_ NOT _being done by the assholes in our precinct?!" Chloe ponders aloud._

* * *

I come around from my recollections, finding myself where I was, midway through breakfast. The Diner seems pretty quiet this morning at any rate, a lot of the more regular diners must be otherwise engaged. That said, we’re a little later getting in here than usual. I glance up from my waffles at Chloe, cheeks full of sandwich. She looks like a chipmunk. A grouchy, goofy, sharp-tongued, loud-mouthed chipmunk. 

Fuck. How do I find ever-more-adorable ways to describe her mentally? I feel a flutter in my stomach as I Clear my throat, getting Chloe’s attention.

“What’s the plan for today then, Chloe?” I ask. A smug grin falls across my face, thinking about the escapades of the last few nights. “Any more warehouses on our ‘To-Search’ list?”

Chloe gulps down her mouthful and winces, grimacing as I start giggling quietly. 

“You’re not gonna let me forget that, are ya?” Chloe mutters, eyeing me blankly.

I shrug, leaning back against my side of the booth. “I dunno. Was _I_ the dumbass who decided checking the doors was too normal, and that the busted hole where the ventilation fan used to be was the best entrance?”

“C’mon, Max! I don’t need a reminder…” Chloe whines.

“Depends on which part you _don’t need a reminder_ on.” I continue, grinning as Chloe’s face gradually gets more and more flushed, squirming and wincing. “The part where you got yourself wedged halfway through the hole, the part where you managed to get yourself snagged trying to get _unstuck_ , or the part where I opened the _unlocked_ door and helped you _through_ the hole.” I muse, grinning at how embarrassed she is. 

“Dude! Seriously!” Chloe groans, as I cackle loudly, clutching my stomach. No doubt a few of the Diner’s patrons are staring down our way, but to hell with them. This is worth the dirty looks, no doubt about it.

“Hey, if you’re going to try and be smart, and ridicule me for trying the _sensible_ option of checking the fucking door, then you’ve gotta be ready for me to ridicule you when your plan backfires. Make a note of that, and perhaps you won’t do something stupid and give me reason to laugh at you next time.” I answer, leaning onto the table again. “Seriously though, what’s our plan today?”

"I figure I might as well go and let Wells know how we're doing. Not that he'll give a fuck." Chloe Asshole just needs a little bit of an idea as to what we’re up to, so he doesn’t get bored and try to pull us off the case.”

I gulp down the last of my food, nodding. “Yeah, let’s do that. Only courtesy, I suppose.”

* * *

_11.30 am_

_Outside 14th Precinct_

Chloe’s form re-emerges from the front door of the Precinct, maybe five minutes after she headed in there. Even from here I can see that she looks shaken. That look in her eyes tells me whatever just happened was a shit-show. I’m all the more glad, in which case, that she just asked me to wait here while she went to find out what Wells wanted. She climbs back into the truck and slams the door shut wordlessly. Her knuckles are white as she grips at the steering wheel, cogs crashing and grinding in her head. I reach a hand out gently, tapping her arm. She flinches, blinking hard.

“Chloe, are you… okay?” I pose, hesitantly. 

Chloe remains silent for a moment, fingers flexing, nails digging into the worn steering wheel trim. Her head sags, releasing a breath. In the corner of her eye, a dampness is forming.

“Wells has told us to drop the case.” She mumbles, barely audible. “He’s going to fire us if we don’t.” She closes her eyes, and the unmistakable trace of a tear runs along the rim of her eye before falling. 

“He did _what?_ ” I hiss, more enraged at the thought of his closing the case than anything else. “Does that sack of shit _realise_ how close we might well be to nailing this motherfucker?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Chloe croaks, still looking like shit. “If he knows we’ve been near this case, both our asses are fried. We gotta-”

As much as there’s almost no space between Chloe and the steering wheel, I slide across the bench and slip under her arms, facing her with my arms on her shoulders; my arms are mostly there so I don’t have to lean on the horn and piss everyone off- assuming her horn _works_.

“Who gives a _fuck_ what he says, Chloe?” I counter, sat on her lap more or less. “We’ve got a lead. _Surely_ that’s enough to keep going at this one?”

Chloe looks into my eyes. I can only wonder at what the fuck happened in there, by the battered, defeated woman I see before me. “He’s said that if he so much as catches wind of us trying, he’s going to have us charged for fuck-only-knows what.” Chloe whimpers. 

I gently cup a hand around her jawline, bringing my face closer to hers. “ _If_ he catches wind of us.” I counter. “I’m amazed you haven’t thought of that yet.”

“Didn’t you hear me, Max?” Chloe answers back. “If he catches us-”

I roll my eyes, stroking the underside of Chloe’s chin. “Come on, Chloe. You know Wells doesn’t know his fucking ass from his elbow. Besides, if we don’t go after this son of a bitch, who will?”

Chloe’s eyes flick to one side, away from mine as a loud sigh leaves her lips. “Okay. If we’re going to do this, we’re going to have to be fucking clever about how we do this.” 

I lean back and give Chloe some space, as she continues. “For starters, we need another case to work on. Whether we crack it or not is another matter, we just need _something_ to justify us snooping around.”

I beam, hugging her. “I knew you’d have a smart idea for this. Let’s go get ‘em.”

* * *

_1.00 pm_

_Downtown_

We're a little ways off of our own patch, but from past experience this is our best bet of getting some information without word getting back to our Imbecile-in-Charge. best bet of turning anything meaningful up. I can already tell Max is looking across at me as I stop the truck outside the seemingly-derelict block of apartments.

“So, why are we here again, Chloe?” She asks. I know for a fact she isn’t going to like the task _nor_ the means, but right now it’s my best idea to throw Wells off our scent in the _Bay Butcher_ investigation that we’re going to try and carry out under his nose. I glance out of the window again, up at the grimy, in places boarded-up windows. 

I glance over at her, as I give her the run-down. “Place is a known drug den, and a lot of other sketchy shit has been known to happen here. Mafia, organised crime, you name it. If we’re going to find anything of use, it’ll probably be here.”

Max gives me an interrogatory stare. “And you know of this place how, exactly?”

I grimace, looking up again to make sure we aren’t being watched. “You’ve seen how Wells runs his Precinct. Or doesn’t run it, the more accurate stance may be. He basically gives the assholes in here a free pass, so long as they give the local police some workable information to go after other criminals. _‘Necessary evil’,_ I think that’s what the prick refers to it as.” I elaborate, venom in my tone in all the right places.

“And you’re sure upsetting his precious balance of power won’t cause any trouble?” Max ponders again.

I shrug. “Given that we’re doing our jobs and cracking down on crime, it’s not like he can complain. Plus, it wouldn’t be the first time I hit this place looking for other leads.” 

Max’s questioning look narrows a little, but she says nothing. “I know, probably _not_ part of the handbook on ‘How to not be a piece of shit’. What can I say, it had the required effect.”

Max raises her hands up. “No judgement from me, Chloe, you know that. No, I thought I saw someone peeking through the boards on that window.”

I glance over, and sure enough, I see the faint flash of movement behind it. “Shit.”

Max’s door pops open, as I go for mine. Trying to look as casual as we can, I lead through the rusted old door into the hallway. It hasn’t changed much since I was last here; same old worn and stained paint along the corridors, same old half-working overhead lights. The dull thump and rattle of some scuffle or fight elsewhere in the run-down apartment block is audible between indistinct shouting, as we head up the stairs. I keep my hand clear of the handrail, but as I glance back at Max I see her recoiling a hand away, a look of disgust on her face. I can’t help but grin at her error. A few flights of stairs- and hot curses muttered under Max’s breath- later, and we’re at the floor in question. I stop in front of the off-green door, apparently not fixed from the last time I paid these assholes a _visit._

“Wait here a moment, Max.” I tell her, as I kick in the door with next to no resistance, striding in on the occupants. A number of the faces I recognise, mostly because I’ve booked them at one stage or another. They freeze, staring at me like rats that have been disturbed while raiding a pantry. This place is about as unclean and dishevelled as I remember it being, no doubt the Aladdin’s Cave of paraphernalia is through ill-gotten gains. That’s an issue for another day, though.

“Still not got a new lock for that door, huh?” I muse, the assorted lowlifes- thugs, muggers and the like- still staring at me in silence. 

“Now then, I know that you assholes aren’t a total waste of space. I’m looking for a certain _serial killer_ that’s back on the grid, the one that’s been mutilating and murdering women across the city.” I state, glancing around the room at them. “I get the impression one of you has _something_ useful on that piece of shit. If you’re smart, you’ll give me what I’m looking for _without_ any trouble.”

One of these dickweeds scoffs off to my side. “Or _what_?” 

I open my mouth to fire back a reply, but a hard blow to my back and a kick to the back of a knee knocks me to the floor, face pressed against the disgusting carpet by the weight of whoever attacked me, the scent of which makes me gag. Ew. They really need to clean this place the fuck up, the floor smells as bad as it looks. I put my hands on the floor to try and push myself back onto my feet, to find something pressing into my back, flat. It squeezes harder, and I try not to yelp at the sudden force being applied. 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, _Price_ .” The one standing on my back snarls, his knee moving to press higher up my back. “You’re going to walk out that door, and _never_ come back here. Or else next time…” I briefly feel a hand move against part of my body, followed by a surprised outcry as the weight of the guy pinning me down is lifted at once. I roll to one side and look back. Max, sure enough, has him doubled over, one arm in a _seriously_ uncomfortable looking hold. The bat that he probably hit me in the back with is lying on the floor. As Max walks him backward a little, he yelps and cries in pain, no doubt from the angle his arm is bent at. Ouch. Jesus, Max, how the fuck are you so good at this?

“I’ll give you a better deal.” She says, calmly. “You give us the information we want, and we’ll leave. If you try anything, or decide to _continue_ being belligerent, then your friend’s bowling arm is never gonna be quite the same again.”

One of them stands up, approaching Max. “You wouldn’t fucking dare.” He steps toward, and Max steps back, stalling and twisting the dude’s arm even higher. I didn’t realise he could yelp at such a high pitch. 

“Oh, but I would.” Max replies. “Or are you still not convinced?”

“Just do as she fuckin’ says, man! Jesus, _FUCK!_ ” The guy Max has by the arm begs his friends. Max cocks her head, a nearly cheeky grin on her face. The guy on his feet curses under his breath. 

“Fucking fine, you assholes can get what you want. _This time._ ” He growls, gesturing at the guy standing on my back to let me go. I get to my feet as he stomps off elsewhere in the cramped apartment room. Possibly rooms plural, knocked through to form one larger room, nothing would surprise me in this place. I take a few deep breaths, wincing at the slight pain in my chest of being pressed into the floor for a while. The slamming of a ledger down onto the floor in front of me, which I scoop up quickly. Don’t wanna give his friend any chance to knock me down again. Only once I’ve taken the ledger in hand does Max release the guy she still has in an arm-lock, pushing him toward his friends.

“Do anything like that to my partner again,” she warns them, “And I will serve you up such an ass-kicking that you won’t be able to sit down for a week.” 

I’m not sure who’s more surprised by Max’s actions _or_ her warning, me or them. Not wanting to hang around, I head out of the door, Max following close behind as we leave the block altogether, heading straight for the truck and peeling out of there before anyone else can set about us.

* * *

“Were you seriously gonna dislocate his arm?” Chloe asks me, still looking at me out of the corner of her eye while driving. That look says _‘I don’t have a fucking clue what to say or how to react to what you just did’_. Yes, Chloe, I still have tricks up my sleeve. 

I simply chuckle. “No… I could’ve, but actually _dislocating_ his arm was more effort than it was worth. I figured he or his friends would tap out before I got to the point of _having_ to pop his arm. Why?” 

The look on Chloe’s face is once again a picture, thousands of words and feelings that I can’t quite put my finger on. Is she surprised? Intimidated? I just don’t know from this angle. 

“Oh, nothing… I just never had you down as the type to strong-arm some random criminal to get them to leave _me_ alone.” She notes, her eyes having a flicker of _something_ in them for a moment.

I shrug, smiling. “Well, I didn’t figure you’d be dumb enough to walk straight into a room full of assholes, without really taking the time to be sure they couldn’t retaliate.”

Chloe winces. “Take that back!” She groans. 

I still can’t pin how she looks just fucking _adorable_ when she’s flustered or embarrassed. I flick through the ledger again. “Before we get too sidetracked, let’s get our heads around this information your _friends_ gave us.” I fire, just enough snark on the word ‘friends’ so that Chloe knows I’m not calling her out. “Have you ever heard of _The Switchyard_? This ledger seems to point to their involvement somewhere along the line.” 

Chloe’s features screw up a tad as she tries to think, before veering the truck around and making a U-Turn. The sudden flick around slides me across the bench, stopping against Chloe. She doesn’t set us back away immediately, just sits there for a second. She opens her mouth to speak, but doesn’t utter a word. For a moment, anyway.

“Mind getting off my hip so we can get going?” She quips, giving me a cheeky grin. Even then, there’s that look in her eyes again.

“In answer to your question,” Chloe responds, “You bet I know what the Switchyard is. _Used_ to be like a dead drop site for the scum of this city. Thugs, muggers, rapists, you name it. It got taken out while Chief Ramirez was still around, and ever since nobody’s really been out there.” She explains. “Wouldn’t come as a shock to find that normal service has resumed.”

* * *

_1.35 pm_

_Pacific General Power Company, Former ‘Bigfoot’ Power Station_

I lead Max across the courtyard toward the main plant building, Max in tow. As we reach the rusted old iron door, I hold her short. “Might be worth keeping your weapon drawn once we go inside.”

Max looks at me, eyes narrowed. “Why? What even is this place?”

I turn back to her, letting my pistol-wielding hand hang by my side. “Well, aside from being a creepy, old, abandoned power plant, this place was- and might still be- a dead-drop site for organised criminals, across the city and beyond. Think like it being a bank. But for information on the worst scum of this fucked-up city. Are you _sure_ you just wanna walk on in there and hope nobody’s home? I sure as hell ain’t.”

Max’s mouth opens a touch, as she lifts her head wordlessly in acknowledgement. Her hand reaches behind her back, drawing on her trusted sidearm. I nudge the door open carefully, wincing at every scraping, grating screech the corroded hinges make as they are coaxed into movement. We slip inside, leaving the door as it is. No point making _even more_ noise. The stench of rust, and degrading industrial equipment is as strong as ever. I make a mental note not to trip over anything as I carefully make my way through what seems to be a large machine room- perhaps an old turbine hall. My toe stubs on something I hadn’t quite seen. Even through my boot, it hurts like fuck, a shooting pain right through my lower leg. 

“Ow, fuck!” I hiss, hopping about on my one foot. My heel snags on something, sending me floorward with a yelp, a cacophony of disturbed debris echoing through the empty hall. A herd of bison stampeding through this derelict site would probably have made less noise than I just did. “For fuck’s sake…” I mutter, moving to stand up. The click of a handgun’s hammer being drawn back behind me makes me freeze solid, my extremities tingling with fear.

“Now then, you don’t look like the average fucking hobo trying to make this place home. Stand up. Leave your piece where it is.” The deep voice commands. Shakily, I get to my feet. I don’t see any sign of Max- where the fuck is she?!

“Turn around.”

Carefully, I do so. The figure is in the shadows just ahead of me, but I can see the handgun levelled at me. “I’m going to give you one chance to answer my question. Try any funny shit with me, and you’ll end up in a shallow grave out in the woods. What are you doing-” 

A movement in the shadows behind this guy, a glint of metal near his throat. “Now then, I’m not sure threatening my _friend_ is very sensible.” The feminine voice- _Max’s voice!_ \- coos in his ear. “Now, do you want to drop _your_ gun and tell us what the fuck _you_ are doing here? Got any _dirty laundry_ hidden around here, maybe?” How the fucking fuckballs is she there, the fucking ninja girl?!

The guy’s gun clatters to the ground, but he continues to act like an asshole. “Uh-huh, two of you fuckers. Best of luck finding anything, because I ain’t giving you _shit_.” He sneers, spitting in my direction. 

Another click, and the guy’s breath hitches. “ _Something,_ ” Max sneers in return, “Tells me you’re going to take that back. Unless of course you want me to give you a second asshole. Sorry, _third_.”

“What did you say, you cheeky who-” The guy starts, shutting his mouth rather abruptly as Max tightens the knife toward his throat. 

“First, and only time I’m gonna ask.” Max warns. “Given you _obviously_ have something to hide, are you going to tell us where we wanna be looking, or do you want us to put you in that shallow grave you were talking about a minute ago? Or would you rather I slit your carotid and leave you to bleed like a pig?” I can’t honestly tell if Max is trying to call his bluff either. The cheeky grin she shoots me reassures me of her gambit, though. She’s just playing some serious mind games with this prick.

He’s icily quiet for a moment, before slowly gesturing to another section of the Hall. “Over there.” He utters, quietly. “Please don’t kill me.”

Max chuckles, softly. “Wasn’t going to.” With a swift move, she brings the handgun up from behind his back and hits him over the head. He crumples to the floor, out cold. Max tucks her knife and gun away and steps toward me, offering a hand as I grab my handgun from among the litter. 

“Next time, try not to make as much noise as an elephant. Makes it a bit harder to sneak around, y’know?” She asks, beaming. I feel a hot flush pass through my face as I take her hand, getting back on my feet to follow her across the Hall.

A rusted door sits before us as we reach the area the douche guarding this place pointed to, its original grey matte paint flaking away from darkened reddish metal, left to the extremities since this place shut down. Max pushes against it, the door barely budging. “It ain’t locked, but it’ll take both of us to get through.” She notes. I nod, slotting my handgun back into my waist, so I have both hands free. Max squeezes herself up against me, I can only guess so that we’re pushing on the same part of the door. It doesn’t do wonders for my heart rate though, having her so close to me again. 

Can I not have a moment to myself where this _isn’t_ in the forefront of my mind? I mean, I haven’t had a break from this for a week straight, give or take. On second thought, I probably deserve it: how long am I going to let this go unspoken, how long am I going to hide how I feel from her before _something_ slips?

“Uh, Chloe?” Max prods at my ribs softly, snapping me once again from my quandary. “Ready to crack this shit-box open?”

I smile at her, another thought appearing in my mind. “So long as it isn’t an _actual_ shit-box, totally. On my count or yours?”

Max rolls her eyes at the first part of my sentence. “You are _insufferable._ As for whose go we go _on_ , either or suits me.”

“Okay, on three.” I decide. “One, Two, Three-”

The pair of us slam against the door with all the force we can bring to bear. The rusted hinges give with no warning, catapulting the door open on us. We crash to the floor, coughing and spluttering in the dust kicked up by the commotion. 

A glance around the place finds nothing immediately important. Nuts. Max, on the other hand, is sifting through a few things at one end of the room. Before I even have a chance to ask her what she’s looking for, she’s handling what looks like a small… box? Yeah, a metal box of some description. The box is as rusted to fuck as the rest of the junk in here, but the padlock looks kinda new. I mean, maybe something like that can stay relatively clean and rust-free if it’s out of the weather in here, right? She tries opening it at any rate, cursing. “Locked.”

“Er… how do you know that’s what we’re looking for, Max?” I ponder. How the hell can she out-detective me so hard? Oh yeah, the whole _‘brain is overburdened with thinking about her’_ probably isn’t helping matters. Again, I _really_ need to deal with that. Sometime, anyway.

Max, predictably, gives me a playful-yet-condescending look. “Look at the padlock on this thing, Chloe. It’s practically brand-new. No way has this thing been here since this place got abandoned, so that suggests _someone_ wants to keep us out of it. However, while they have the right idea- a nice, tough lock- they forgot that the box they used is a rusted piece of crap.” She grins at me cheekily. “Observe.” The box is hoisted above her head, and thrown hard at the concrete in front of her. A loud, metallic clang echoes across the room, and Max takes a step back, blinking dust out of her eyes. At a glance, part of the box has sheared off, taking the padlock with it and depositing its contents onto the floor. What looks like another couple of ledgers or something, among other things.

“Max, are you sure there wasn’t a more, you know, discreet way of opening that?” I ask. “I mean, whoever’s stuff that is, they’re gonna notice that it’s gone and that the box is in three bits on the floor. They’re gonna know someone’s busted in here.”

Max gives me another sarcastically perplexed look as she stoops to scoop up our score. “What, and they wouldn’t be able to tell that from the busted-open door and the armed asswipe out front taking a dirt-nap?”

I shrug. “A very good point. Now then, what shall we do from here? I don’t know about you, but I don’t wanna spend any longer in this place than I have to. I don’t even wanna think of all the nasty shit we could catch from this place.”

Max steps over some more of the various trip-hazards strewn about the place, taking my hand. It’s a simple move, but it still sends a bolt of electricity coursing through me once more. “Well, I figure we head back to the apartment and take a look at what we’ve been through. Shall we?”

* * *

_7.55pm_

_The Apartment_

We’ve tried, and better tried going over this ledger to no avail. Chloe all but gave up trying an hour or so ago, having exhausted just about every idea in her head. To be honest, I’m on the verge of calling it quits too, this thing makes next to no sense.

“I mean, are we sure that it isn’t just some janky-ass old manual for some piece of old control gear?” Chloe asks, sitting on the other side of the table, nursing a cup of coffee- her third since returning to the apartment- and rubbing her head. “Let’s be real, it _would_ make some sense for that to be all codes and shit. Maybe this is another fucking dead end in a sea of dead-ends.” She grumbles, lowering her head toward the table.

I refuse to be beaten, however. I can’t think of a good reason that someone would lock an old, obsolete instruction manual of some kind away in a decrepit, abandoned old power station. _Especially_ with what Chloe said of the place’s former use. Something she says strikes with me though. _Codes._ Maybe not computer codes, or something along those lines, but a cipher? Given how poorly guarded the place is, I guess it would make a lot of sense for them to make sure that the information would be next to useless in the hands of someone who didn’t know how to read the cipher.

“You might be onto something, Chloe.” I inform her. “Now, I’ve no fucking clue how we go about deciphering _any_ of it right now, but I think that this might be a cipher. I mean, it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

Chloe looks at me as though I’m speaking Russian. “Say what now? Why the fuck would someone go to the length of… ciphering their…” She slows to a grinding halt as my logic disseminates into her, wordlessly. “How did I not think of that?”

I give her another wide smile. “Maybe the coffee had the opposite effect to what you wanted?”

Chloe glares at me, almost sleepily, and flips me off once more. 

“Careful, you might strain that finger with all the use it’s getting!” I snarkily send her way in response. Her eyes roll, hard. As I glance back down at the notes in front of me again. Something catches my eye on the paper, as I take one more look at the code. The typeset, the way it’s laid out on the page, reminds me of…

I slam the book of ciphered text onto the table. “Motherfucker. I think I have an idea for how we can start figuring this out.”

Chloe’s eyebrows raise a little. “Do tell.”

“The codes are military. Or, at least, it looks like whoever encoded this ledger did so using a military-style cipher. It’s an older type though, which is all the better. My dad’s an ex-soldier of some description, and I know from some of what I’ve talked to him about before that he might be able to help us out. Or, if that fails, one of his old army friends will probably be able to help.”

Chloe’s eyes light up again for a moment. Once more, there’s something going on in there beyond the elation at possibly breaking through on this case. Perhaps the thought of her getting a step closer to justice for her murdered partner? Or something else?

I think she notices my reading her, glancing over at the clock. “Uh, I guess it’s a bit too late to pay him a visit tonight. So, how should we fill the rest of our evening?”

“Drink?” I reply. “I could sure as shit use one.”

Chloe sighs. “I got nothing in the place. Plus, we can’t risk going near Steph’s for now- especially with just how fucking carefully we’re having to tread. Unless, of course, you have any good ideas.”

I stop for a moment, as one such place comes to mind. “Yeah, I think I have one in mind. It’s nothing out of the ordinary, just a little run-down if memory serves. Perfect for a quiet night of unwinding. I should know, I used to work the bar.”

Chloe fails entirely to conceal her surprise. “You, working a bar? Now there’s a twist I didn’t expect.”

I swat her in the chest gently, getting up from my seat. “Hey, it’s not the first thing about me that’s surprised you, to my count.” I retort. Chloe opens her mouth to reply, changing her mind as she follows up behind me.

* * *

_8.40 pm_

_Joe’s Bar and Grill_

Some time later, we finally reach the bar Max was talking about. Outwardly, it looks like any other small-time bar around these parts; probably nowhere near as nice as the _Caligula,_ but again, we’re not exactly rich for options. Given that we’re _already_ continuing an _unsanctioned_ investigation under Wells’ nose, it makes no sense at all to _give_ him an easy reason to start having us watched or worse yet, suspended on the spot. Plus, Max says she’s been here before. I’ll go with it, if her memory is as good as it seems to be. Max smiles as she looks at the battered neon sign, Parts of some letters no longer glowing as they should. 

“Looks like Old Joe still hasn’t gotten around to having the sign fixed.” She remarks. “That thing’s been busted to hell for years.”

“Years?” I prod, giving Max a snarky glance. “Did little Maxie sneak into bars under-aged?”

Max rolls her eyes. “Look who’s lecturing who on laws. What can I say, I worked behind the bar from time to time.” She shoots back, equally snarky. “Now, are we gonna sit staring at the place all evening, or are we going inside?”

She has a point. Leaving my truck haphazardly parked as ever- not like anyone’s gonna risk damaging their own car dinging her- we head for the door. The place on the outside looks exactly as I imagine, the door being weather-beaten as hell, and I’m pretty sure there are some patched holes where some drunken dipshit has shot the door, though judging from the damage it was probably a patron _inside_ . Pushing on the handle, we’re met by a slightly fuggy air filled with cigarette smoke, and an aura of [ prog rock ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nEVDZl5UvN4). Jesus, is this 1972 all over again? There’s a few middle-aged dickheads in this place playing pool over at one end of the bar, an assortment of empty beer bottles around them. Regulars to this place, no doubt. As we approach the bar, the equally worn and tired guy behind it looks up from the glass he’s drying, his eyes lighting up as he sees Max. Even from here, the bar’s covered in staining from the various glasses over the years, scratched and marked by all manner of other things- cents and knives, if I were to guess- so it would appear this place has seen some shit. Hopefully, not tonight.

“Well hello stranger.” He muses, putting the glass and the cloth down on the side. “Haven’t seen you down this way in some time.”

Max smiles at him, leaning on the bar. “Tell me about it, Joe. How’ve the regulars been?”

The barman, Joe- whom I can only guess owns this place- huffs, smiling. “As good as ever. Still the same bunch of fucking assholes.” He mutters, shooting a brief glare over at the guys by the pool table. They seem to remain completely oblivious, still drunkenly smacking the cue ball around the threadbare and scarred felt of the table. Something gives me the feeling that most of this place hasn’t seen a makeover- or even a minor refurb- in years. “Anyway, enough about my struggles as a small-timer. I take it you’ll be wanting your usual?”

Max nods, as he continues. “And what about your- companion- here?”

I open my mouth, but Max cuts me off. “Johnnie Walker. Black Label, half a tumbler to start.” 

The fuck? _How?_

“With the amount of the stuff you drink, Chloe, common sense says that you like the stuff. How is another matter, if you ask me.” Max remarks, giving me a sly grin. 

That look on her face is sending my insides all kinds of funny again. I just hope it doesn’t show on my face, as Max passes me my whiskey and leads me to a table, a little ways from the gruff guys trying to act like hard-asses in front of us. Max’s drink, in place of the wine she has drunk before now- or the port I gave her at the _Caligula_ \- is also whiskey. Huh. Never had her down as the kinda girl to drink hard liquor- Red Label, if I caught the bottle correctly- but I stand corrected once again. She really _is_ a box of secrets, one that I- I wince as subtly as I can, as I catch my thoughts once more. I’m going to have to act sooner or later, in spite of anything else. Either I act, or I let these fucking feelings drive me insane. 

“What’s bugging you, Chloe?” Max asks, taking a sip from her tumbler. “I mean, beyond the obvious shitstorm we’ve found ourselves in the middle of.”

Where the fuck do I even begin with that question? Well, I can begin by knocking back a mouthful of my whiskey, that’s for sure. I wrap my fingers around it, fidgeting away even as I try to stop them. “Well, just everything that we’re dealing with. I know I keep saying that, but it really is just _everything_ at this point.” I look up at her from the rippling liquor, her face belying my own apprehension, worries. “Would it scare you if I told you that I’m _seriously_ out of my depth right now?” 

The end of the sentence comes out as a whimper more than a statement, as if Max needed any more of an indicator of just how terrifying this whole situation is. I’ve never been in such a fucking bad place before. On one side a serial killer, who we may have barely missed death at the hands of last week, and who seems to be ahead of us at every step. On the other side, we have the _motherfucking ASSHOLES_ of our Precinct, who- save for a small handful, namely Nathan and Mark- seem to be out to get us at every turn, forcing us to walk on eggshells for fear of needless retributions. This is a first for me, and it scares the fuck out of me that any step I- we- take could lead at best to our being fired and never getting to the bottom of this case; at worst leading to our untimely demises. We’re on a precipice, and one that I’m unfamiliar with. The worst part of this all, in honesty, is that I just _don’t know_ in most of this situation. Most of the time, no matter how hairy things get, I’ve at least _some_ experience in handling it. I’m blind in this, and that only makes me more scared.

Max looks away from me for a moment. Even in that incredibly small time, I’m panicking, screaming out inside. Have I pushed her too far? Has my being open put her too far beyond what she feels she can handle? Oh fuck, what have I done?

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who’s freaked the fuck out about all of this.” She utters, looking me in the eyes once more. A slight smile is on her face, albeit somewhat sheepish. “Still, at least we both know we’re in the shit, big time.” 

My heart is still racing as I scramble to create a coherent sentence. “B-but, how are you this calm? I mean, this whole fucking circus could come crashing down on both of us at any moment? How can you stay so cool about it when anything we do might be the last thing we do?”

  
  


Max leans forward on the table, hands cupped. “You’re right. It is a minefield, and one that- alone- I’d stand no fucking chance in hell of taking this on and coming out okay.” She pauses for a few moments, continuing as I barely open my mouth to speak. She leans toward me as she does, her fingers gently squeezing in between mine.

“But so long as you’re by my side, Chloe, I think I can live with it. Who fucking cares if the world’s falling down on us? I’m pretty sure we can take it on, so long as we still have each other.”

I didn’t realise that my stomach could do as many cartwheels as it just did. Even with a mouthful of drink, every molecule of moisture in my mouth just upped and fucked off, the thrum of my pulse softly flickering in my neck. Does she… is she trying to make a move on _me_ ? Fuck, have I been freaking out over nothing _this entire time?_

Again, I open my mouth to ask, but get cut off. Not by Max, but by a wolf-whistle from across the bar. “Well, boys, looks like we got us a pair of dykes.” One of the dick-brains at the pool table sneers, approaching us. “Gonna give us a show or what?”

I grumble, standing and approaching him. “What, bored of playing pool with a bunch of middle-aged white guys?” An evil smirk graces my face as I think of a witty, if ill-advised, retort. “Sure, that’s not indicative of anything on your part.”

The wise-cracking is promptly knocked from me as the asshole storms up to me, slamming a meaty fist into my chest. Another hand pins me against a pillar by the neck as I try to double up, lungs screaming out from the winding, barely able to wheeze a breath on account of being choked by him. “What did you say to me, you fucking whore?”

“Let her go, and apologize.” I hear from behind me, icily calm. A flick out of the corner of my eye finds Max on her feet, approaching the one pinning me to the wall. Max, what the fuck are you doing?!

Whatever the hell she’s thinking seems to have some effect, as the dick-wad pinning me up leaves me be. I slide down the wall wheezing as he rounds on Max, reaching into his pocket. With a flourish, he pulls out and sets a butterfly knife. Shit! “And what are you going to do about it, _little girl_?” He sneers, pointing the knife at her. 

My heart stops, as he lunges forward at her. Then, _something_ happens. I don’t quite know how to describe what happens at all. The dude’s lunging at Max one moment; the next, there’s a masculine, agonized scream, Max effortlessly countering the knife lunge, breaking his wrist, _embedding the knife in his fucking thigh_ , and driving a knee hard into his chest. He falls to the floor, whimpering and tenderly touching at the knife in a pointless attempt to remove it from his leg. _Holy. Shit. What the fuck, Max?_

  
  
  


The shattering of glass elsewhere abruptly grabs my attention. Oh boy, that asshole’s friends are _PISSED._ One steps forward, brandishing a broken-off bottle. “You’re gonna fucking die for that, you little bitch.” He snarls. Max, apparently not fucked in the slightest by the threat, straightens herself up and stares him down, as the jukebox starts blasting perhaps [ the most ironic song ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XNT6bwrvIzY) it possibly could have.

One of the unarmed guys charges Max, who sidesteps him, sending him clattering through one of the tables as his momentum carries him onto the floor. She pays attention to him for a moment too long, giving the asshole with the bottle time to close to within reach.

“Max! Behind you!” I cry out as he grabs her. He pins her close by as he raises the bottle. As it plunges, Max grates a foot down his shin, unsteadying him. Preoccupied with the new pain in his leg, his attempt to stab Max with the bottle is intercepted by her hands. She pulls his arm down, bringing the bottle back up to stab him- still behind her- in the crotch with his own weapon. He howls out in pain, releasing her and the bottle. As he doubles over, Max wraps her hands around his head and slams it hard down into her knee, the blood gushing as his nose bursts open. He hits the floor, out cold. 

By now, not only are the other two dudes left by the table advancing on her, one packing the pool cue, but the one who tried and failed to bum-rush is back up and at her. I scramble to my feet and knock him against the wall, as the two other pricks rush Max. After the initial shock of being swept through the chairs and tables now part-broken and littering the floor, the guy I’ve picked on to keep busy is back in the stride. I reel back as his fist connects with my face, hard. Ow. As I land back on the floor, the pudgy bastard tries to pin me to the floor, raining blows down on me. Stupid prick forgot to pin my legs down, though, as he discovers to his pain. One swift kick to the balls promptly ends his barrage of blows, stiffening and collapsing to one side, cradling his busted manhood. 

I don’t have time to lie around, though, yelping as the end of a pool cue bounces off of the floor where my head was a moment earlier. Max is still fighting uneven odds, but she seems fine. Even as one picks her up from behind, she directs a toecap into the face of the other dick bearing down on her, before countering the grab with a hard mule kick in the guts. I roll across the floor, barely dodging a stamped foot aimed at my ribs. I sweep out with a foot, crying out as about two hundred pounds of homophobic scumbag land on my leg with its ass. Lunging forward, I knock the guy on my leg backward, slugging his face until another blow to the side of my head dislodges me, a wave of tinnitus and blurry sight all but taking me out for a moment. As it clears, I see the guy who hit me around the head- with what seems to be the stem of one of the broken tables- standing over me. He raises it behind his head, about to slam down. I yelp, bringing my arms up to protect my head. I see from between them that the stem is yanked back from between his hands. He turns to find Max toting it, who slams it without hesitation into his stomach. He tumbles backward, onto me. The tub of lard falling onto me from standing squashes the breath from me with a gasp, yet another one of our attackers dispatched by Max’s hand. One shakily gets to his feet behind her, the last one who is in fighting shape squaring off at a distance from her, as she regains her footing amid the wrecked furniture, panting heavily. I get to my feet, to find myself cut off by one more of them, in as rough a shape as me. I hear a roar of anger, as the last guy charges her, his buddy attempting the same from behind. Just before the third guy reaches me, I see Max sidestep the douche who charged her, grabbing his shoulder and launching him at the other guy. The two tumble into the jukebox, rattling it and disrupting the track.  
  


A paw to the face brings me back into focus, head rolling to one side. The side of my cheek feels warm, and sure enough, the sensation of blood trickling down it shows up a moment or two later. I can barely feel it though, as the last dick-bag standing staggers toward me. I react a little too slowly and catch a headbutt, knocking me back against the bar as an uncomfortable buzz ripples through my head again. I glimpse a bottle, just within reach, and as he attempts to capitalize on his dazing me, I grab it, slamming it hard down on his head, shattering it and spilling its contents over him. The lights go out, and he drops like a stone. I push myself up off the bar for a moment, staggering to the next remaining object that stands, a support column of some kind. Jesus fuck, we’ve made a mess. In the area we were originally sitting in, I don’t think there’s a single piece of furniture left intact. Glass litters the floor, and I can sort of feel it now, the dull sting of the nicks on my skin which have traces of alcohol in them, as if they didn’t hurt enough. I spit out the horrible mix of saliva and blood in my mouth, the reddish blob landing at my feet. I glance across at where we were sitting, seeing the table and our drinks are a mess. Shame, I was looking forward to a decent drink. Wait, where’s Max? Shit.

Apparently, she’s fine. More or less, anyway. Oh, thank fucking Christ. She wipes some of the blood from her face, shuffling toward me. She takes a bit of a look around the room also, blushing at the utter devastation we’ve wreaked. “Sorry about the mess, Joe.”

Joe- who I can only assume has been sat with a ringside seat to all of this- leans on the bar, chuckling. “It’s fine, Max. If anything, it gives me a good reason to refurbish the joint. Heaven knows it’s overdue for one.” He looks over the groaning, bloodied bodies left lying around the bar’s floor. “Those assholes have had it coming for far too long.” He notes, a scornful scowl cast over them.

“Want us to help...sweep up or anything?” Max asks, words slightly slurred. Joe shakes his head. 

“Nah. I’ve got it, ladies. Don’t go getting into any more fights tonight, though, will ya?” He advises, chuckling to himself as he- I guess- goes to find a brush in order to start cleaning up the mayhem we've left.

I hobble over to Max, knees still burning as I wrap an arm over her, as much to support myself as it is to help her. I take one last look behind us at the door and smirk at the mayhem behind us as we step into the cooling night.

* * *

I wipe my face again as we sit in the truck, still finding a little bit of blood as a result of the mayhem that was that fight. However, _nobody_ gets to treat Chloe like that without consequences. Speaking of which, I glance over at her as she takes us back through the darkening streets. It may be springtime, but the skies are once more shrouded over by a menacing cloud. The occasional streetlamp floods the cab with a little more light in the gloom, Chloe’s expression and body language sending all kinds of bad signs in my direction. Her hands are once again tensed on the steering wheel, in the corner of her eye I can see a sporadic, almost frenzied, glimpse over at me. I can see it in her, once again she’s over-processing to such an extreme degree, saying nothing at all as she tears herself apart.

“Chloe, are you alright? You’ve been seriously fucking quiet since we left the bar.” I ask. “They didn’t bust up something important on you, did they?”

“No, I’m fine.” She deadpans.

“You coulda fooled me, Chloe. Seriously, what’s up?” I probe. I want to get to the bottom of this, and as soon as possible. She shoots daggers over at me.

However, as she opens her mouth to reply again, the truck jolts, an awful cough coming from the engine. The cough and jolt is followed by another, the cough replaced by a horrid rattling, as the truck feels like it’s slowing down. 

“Oh, no. No, no no no _NO_!” Chloe cries out, protesting at her truck’s imminent failure. “Don’t you fucking dare do this to me, you fucker!”

Sure enough, her words are inadequate to stop whatever’s gone wrong with the engine, and it cuts out entirely, the truck drifting to a stop by the sidewalk. 

“NO!” Chloe roars, slamming a fist down on the dash. “You fucking useless piece of scrap!”

Yeah, something really isn’t right with her. Normally she’s telling me off for being disparaging about her truck, so for her to be openly hurling those kinds of names at it is very out of the ordinary. I hop out of the truck with her, as she slams her door hard and stomps toward the front of the truck. She probes through the front of the grille, trying and failing to get the hood open and figure out what’s gone wrong, failing in every attempt. 

“Ow, Shit! Fucking stupid fucking catch!” She snarls, catching her hand against something in the engine and failing to get the hood open. I reach in toward where her hand is to try and find the release catch, as she seems to be completely failing in it. There’s not much space, so I’m having to try and squeeze my hand past hers to feel for the stubborn catch. 

“What are you doing, Max?” Chloe all but snaps. I look up at her, a picture of turbulent emotions, most of which I can’t track.

“I’m trying to help, Chloe. Mind moving your hand over a little, so I can try and find this fucking hood catch?” I ask her.

“I don’t need you to help, Max.” She growls. “Get your hand out of the way.”

“Chloe, you’ve been fighting with this and having no luck. Are you sure you’re able to do it?” I ask her again, as I again try to find the catch. I can already hear a few rumbles of thunder on the horizon, and I’d rather not be out here fixing this infernal beast in the pouring rain. 

“Max, I don’t need you to try and protect me!” Chloe snaps, rattling around with her hand in the narrow gap it shares with mine. “I should be protecting-” She shuts her mouth suddenly, a little of her skin tone paling.

I stop feeling for the catch and turn to her, as she sharply withdraws her hand, wincing as it hits the metalwork. “What did you say, Chloe?”

Chloe looks distraught, as she begins to back away from me. I take my hand out of the grille and move toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She turns away, walking at a quickening pace down the road. “Wait! Chloe, come on!” I call after her, jogging to close the gap. My hand lands on her shoulder and I spin her around. She yelps, almost falling as her foot slips, I catch her and steady her. . “Please, Chloe, just fucking talk to me.”

Another, louder rumble of thunder breaks overhead, and as though the world can sense that something is wrong. All at once, the clouds above release their energy, the rain coming down in sheets. Within a matter of moments, the pair of us are soaked to the bone, freezing cold as the unrelenting storm batters the city. I pull Chloe slightly closer, so she can hear me over the rain and thunder.

“Please, just talk to me.” I plead.

She shifts my hands from her arms, taking another step back from me. “You wanna know what’s wrong with me, huh?” She replies at last, her voice cracking. Water’s streaming down her face, her eyes red, nose running. Or maybe it’s the rainwater flushing down over her face as it beats down upon us. “I’m scared I can’t protect you. That you’ll be gone, like every other fucking good thing that’s ever happened in my life. Like… like R-rach…” She whimpers.

At last, some clarity. “Wait… are you saying you’re scared to lose me because…?” I ask, trailing off as I finally- maybe- understand what the look in her eyes has been. “Are you saying you’re scared to lose me because you…”

“Yes!” Chloe splutters. “I love you, okay?!” Her gaze drops to the floor, her demeanor drained of any energy. “There. I said it. Now what? I mean, I don’t even know if- if you even like me like that, or if I’ve just-” Her words are overwritten by a sob, all the pent-up feelings inside her breaking down her walls all at once, a cascade of all which she has tried to keep under wraps. “Just go, okay! I’m not fucking worth it, and I know that all too well. Especially with everything that’s at stake. You shouldn’t have to be in danger just because I-”

I’ve heard just about enough of this by now. I take a step closer to her, wrapping my arms around her chest. I don’t really notice the wetness of her at all as I stare into her eyes.

“Whoever said that I didn’t feel the same way about you, Chloe?” I ask her, gently. I take a hand from around her to brush some of the sodden blue strands from her face. “Why do you think I’ve tried my best to keep you safe, like that asshole earlier today, the douchebags that attacked us at the bar?” 

Chloe’s mouth hangs open as she blinks a few times, quietly. “You...you mean…?”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, you idiot.” I tell her, playfully. “I’ve been practically fucking crazy about you since the day we met- even if we were at each other’s throats for a while. And you’re _not_ useless, worthless, or any of that shit that you think you are. You know this fucking city inside out, and even though you _do_ have your dumb moments… but now I’ve gotten to know you, you’re the only person I can think of that I’d want to be with.”

I feel Chloe’s hand brush my cheek, as her other arm curls under my armpit and around my back. “Thank you.” She whimpers.

“Wanna know what the second thing I thought was when I first saw you, that day in the Precinct?” I ask her.

“Huh?” Chloe simply utters, burnt out from her meltdown.

“The thought…” I continue, chuckling a little. “Was that you are possibly, _quite possibly_ , are the most beautiful lady I’d ever seen.” I tell her, as I lean in further. Our lips meet for the first time. I can tell just by how Chloe responds to the contact that she’s been longing for this moment as much as I have, that this kiss means as much to her as it does to me. I can feel the warmth spreading throughout my chest, my pulse spiking as we pull each other closer, tighter still, the hammering down of rain a distant thrum, nothing else mattering as we embrace by the side of the road. After what might’ve been a few seconds, or several minutes, we break away.

“Wowser.” Chloe gasps, quietly. She sniffs softly, still recovering from her outburst as I rub her nose. 

“I thought that was my line.” I tease, cheekily. I feel her hand swat me in the stomach gently as- in spite of the torrent of anguish she’s just put herself through in opening up to me- she chuckles, smiling at me. Putting her arm around me, we start to trudge back to her truck. I’m pretty sure I can hear a vague squelch from her boots- or maybe mine- as we move.

“So, what was the first thing you thought when you saw me?” Chloe asks.

I wince, recalling those exact thoughts. “You sure you wanna know?”

“Was it all that bad?” Chloe asks in response, giggling.

I scratch the back of my neck, nervously giggling. “It was something like, _what kinda cop leaves a criminal unattended and uncuffed_. Sorry.” I mutter, wincing even harder. Chloe glares at me, though I can see it in her eyes that it is her normal playfulness. 

“Shall we get this fucking asshole of a truck working so we can go get dried off again?” She asks. “I’d rather like to not catch something nasty from freezing my ass half off.”

  
I snort another laugh as we get the hood open at last. “I don’t think freezing your ass _half_ off would be too noticeable. There’d still be plenty there.” I state, cackling, until her palm slapping hard across mine shuts me up with a squeak. The same hand pulls me over to her and turns me around, back to the engine bay, Chloe’s hands on either side of my body. Under the slight protection of the raised hood, a relentless metallic drumming above, Chloe’s lips connect with mine once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to one of our excellent friends on Discord- Bookiemonster- for beta'ing this chapter earlier today! 
> 
> So, the moment you’ve all been waiting for has finally come to pass. The final scene was pretty fun to try and write, and although at the time of writing I’ve yet to take the chapter to beta I think it’s worked out pretty nicely.
> 
> Again, I apologize for how long this has taken to release- I’ve had an absolute overload of things on my plate in the last few months- an evil module on my FdEng and a lot of academic workload, a rodent infestation, a few power cuts, a couple of assignments, yet more psychiatric fun and games that would keep one Sigmund Freud awake at night… yeah, the time I’ve had since summer has been a train-wreck and it hasn’t gotten any better, I just found some gaps of time in which to carry out work on the chapter.
> 
> It doesn't help either that I've now got an unhealthy number of games to unleash on myself- Communizing the world in HOI4, teaching space hippie aliens a thing or two about industry on Factorio, or living out my own 80s clandestine fic-fantasies in the new Black Ops. (Yes, I started playing it today and I'm already in love).
> 
> I'll see how things go at any rate- if nothing else, I wound up having issues figuring out future plot elements and so I spent a length of time discussing these with Escherlat- after re-jigging my layout so that Eschi could actually understand my notes, we worked things through and I gotta say, for the foreseeable at least, things are looking all in order for the next few chapters.
> 
> And yes, things are going to be a little calmer next chapter. And then _A LOT_ less calmer the next chapter :P
> 
> Until next time!

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, did I forget to mention in the plethora of tags that there is going to be plenty of awkwardness between the duo, and that many many _MANY_ awkward situations are going to crop up? 
> 
> Yeah... this is going to be seriously good fun.
> 
> I was originally not gonna release this until I started writing Chapter 2, but tonight (16/3/20) I just got to a point where I thought "fuck it, might as well hit the red button."


End file.
